"It is a girl, after all," she whispered. "You will spoil her terribly, and love her a great deal more than me; but I will not be jealous, I promise you."
And the next day the sun was shining again, and the heaven still blue and the birds jubilant.
"If the weather keeps so fine, we can soon go to Zehrendorf," she said. "It is very well that you have not come to a definite settlement with the prince. He has been very kind and obliging to us, it is true, but still I think you had better reconsider the matter with my father. Why does my father not come? You have written to him, haven't you?"
"Certainly; but he had started on a journey. And you must not talk so much."
"I feel quite strong: I only wish I could give the little one some of my strength. Oh me! such a giant as you are, George, and such a tiny morsel of a babe! But it has your eyes, sir!"
"I hope it has yours, madame."
"Why so?"
"Because then it would have the loveliest in the world."
"What a flatterer! But to come back to Zehrendorf: we will have to keep it on account of the child, which will need country air, the doctor says. I can see us both sitting under the great beech which I saved because you carved your name on it--for somebody else, sir!--and now to be sitting with wife and child, a prosaic, common-place husband, where you once stood full of romantic dreams--is it not very comical?"
"Oh yes, it is inexpressibly comical; but now you really must not talk any more."