"Well, well," said Baumann, comforting her, "maybe we can manage it."
Whereupon he marched out.
"You see, I have to beg for everything in my own house," said Melitta. "But why do you not eat? And what a little piece you have taken! The worst, too, in the dish! Oh, what unpractical creatures you men are! I see I shall have to take pity on you."
And although Oswald assured her that he had no appetite at all, she insisted upon helping him to the best that the table offered.
"You do not like it," she said at last, quite sadly, when she saw that the young man hardly touched the dishes. "Are you unwell?"
"I was never better in my life. But have you never felt as if eating and drinking were the most superfluous things in the world, and as if the gods of Olympus themselves, who only needed nectar and ambrosia, were the most wretched creatures, because they ate and drank?"
"Oh, yes! I have often felt so," replied Melitta. "I remember I felt so when my aunt took me to my first ball. But that is long, long ago, and since then my feelings have, as far as I remember, never had anything to do with my appetite."
In spite of this boast, however, Melitta also treated everything on the table, except some preserves, as a mere show-dinner. The sweet fire which made her bosom rise, and gave new lustre to her beautiful eyes, needed no food from the hands of Ceres. For the first time that day there were pauses in the conversation. Neither ventured to speak of that which filled their hearts to overflowing, and everything else appeared so little, so insignificant! They were both overcome by an embarrassment which they in vain tried to conceal under an assumed indifference. Both felt that a strong, unseen hand was gently lifting the mask which we all use in daily life to hide our real faces. When we hear the voice of the god of love, asking us in our paradise: "Where art thou?" we conceal ourselves and dare not answer ...
They felt almost relieved when old Baumann came in, bringing the merry child of Champagne in its silver cradle filled with ice, which he placed before Oswald on the table. How he could have succeeded so suddenly in bringing the desired wine from the deep cellar and out of the box, this was one of those enigmas which the old man loved dearly, and which he considered, beyond the power of man to divine. Opening the bottle with skilful hand, he filled the foaming wine into the tall graceful glasses, and looked highly pleased when his mistress drank the sweet beverage almost with eagerness, and then, holding up her empty glass, exclaimed: "Encore, Baumann! and take a glass for yourself and drink our guest's health!"
The old servant did as he was ordered, filled a glass at the sideboard, and then drawing nearer to the table, he said: