"Certainly, certainly; that will much enhance the charm of each poem," said Oswald, frightened at the endless perspective.
"Would you not rather, dearest Gustava----" said the minister.
"Let me have my choice," replied the poetess, in a soft but decisive tone, and then, clearing her throat--
"On a Dead Mole."
"On what?" cried Oswald, starting up with amazement.
"Well, you see, dear friend," said Primula, "how the mere title already electrifies you."
"Yes, indeed!" murmured Oswald, sinking back in his corner.
"On a Dead Mole," repeated the poetess, "which I found by the wayside:--
"How do you lie so quiet there
With black and shining skin!