“Pity,” answered Otto, “that the Maenades of the north possess only that which is brutal in common with those of the south!”
“See, there goes the smith’s pretty daughter, to whom I threw the best rose!” cried Wilhelm. “She has got two lovers, one under either arm!”
“Yes, there she goes!” simpered a female voice close to them. It was Sidsel, who sat upon the steps of a stile almost concealed in the darkness, which the trees and the hedge increased still more.
“Has Sidsel no lover?” asked Wilhelm.
“Hi, hi, hi,” simpered she; “the Herr Baron and the other gentleman seek, doubtless, for a little bride. Am I beautiful enough? At night all cats are gray!”
“Come!” whispered Otto, and drew Wilhelm away from her. “She sits like some bird of ill omen there in the hedge.”
“What a difference!” exclaimed Wilhelm, as he followed; “yes, what a difference between this monster, nay, between the other girls and Eva! She was, doubtless, born in the same poverty, in similar circumstances, and yet they are like day and night. What a soul has been given to Eva! what inborn nobility! It must be, really, more than a mere freak of Nature!”
“Only do not let Nature play her freaks with you!” said Otto, smiling, and raised his hand. “You speak often of Eva.”
“Here it was association of ideas,” answered Wilhelm. “The contrast awoke remembrance.”
Otto entered his chamber—he opened the window; it was a moonlight night. From the near wood resounded laughter and song. They came from the young men and girls, who, on their wandering, gave themselves up to merriment. Otto stood silent and full of thought in the open window. Perhaps it was the moon which lent her paleness to his countenance. On what did he reflect? Upon his departure, perhaps? Only one more day would he remain here, where he felt himself so much at home; but then the journey was toward his own house, to his grandfather, to Rosalie, and the old preacher, who all thought so much of him. Otto stood listening and silent. The wind bore the song more distinctly over from the wood.