"She is still coy," said the young Spaniard, telling Ulrich to wait at the narrow door, which opened upon the balcony. "There sits the angel! Just look! I gave her the pomegranate blossom in her magnificent hair— did you ever see more beautiful tresses? Take notice! She'll soon melt; I know women!"
Directly after a bouquet of roses fell into the embroiderer's lap. Carmen uttered a low cry, and perceiving Sanchez, motioned him away with her head and hand, finally turning her back upon him.
"She's in a bad humor to-day," said Sanchez; "but I beg you to notice that she'll keep my roses. She'll wear one to-morrow in her hair or on her bosom; what will you wager?"
"That may be," answered Ulrich. "She probably has no money to buy any for herself."
To be sure, the next day at twilight Carmen wore a rose in her hair.
Sanchez exulted, and drew Ulrich out upon the balcony. The beauty glanced at him, blushed, and returned the fair-haired boy's salutation with a slight bend of the head.
The gate-keeper's little daughter was a pretty child, and Ulrich had no fear of doing what Sanchez ventured.
On the third day he again accompanied him to the balcony, and this time, after silently calling upon the "word," pressed his hand upon his heart, just as Carmen looked at him.
The young girl blushed again, waved her fan, and then bent her little head so low, that it almost touched the embroidery.
The next evening she secretly kissed her fingers to Ulrich.