"Ah! I want so little; but he denies me everything!" she said.
"Poor Tonia!" he cried; "is it possible those lips have ever framed a wish in vain?"
He put her hand to his lips.
"What was it, what did he deny you?"
"Oh!" she cried sadly, "that I should profane the sweet hours of our love--leave it--it is already forgotten!" and she sighed again.
"It cannot be forgotten until you have told me. I beg you, if you love me, tell me what vexes you, that this melancholy may all be driven away."
"He was angry with me," she replied, without raising her eyes, "about my dressmaker's bill, and positively refused his assistance; and," she said with animation, "such troubles torment me so, these things suit neither my head nor my heart--where one thought alone, one feeling reigns."
"Only one word more," cried he cheerfully, "the amount of the wretched bill, that so presumptuously seeks to share with me this lovely head, this sweetest heart."
"Two thousand gulden," she whispered.
"What economy!" he cried; "yet your perfect beauty does not need the aid of dress. I humbly beg to be allowed to chase this cloud from the bright eyes I love."