"No," he answered, "I think not always. But then perhaps they are continually yearning, not knowing for what, and feel an eternal vacuity in life."
And here, in spite of his will, the sincere poetry of youth and sentiment spoke through his lips:
"You called yourself a bird of flight," he said. "Beloved also is that bird, only not as a bird which flies away but rather as a bird which flies hitherward. For it flies unexpectedly from somewhere in the distance--from beyond the mountains, from beyond the sea, and nests in the heart, and begins to sing such a song that one hearing it would fain close his eyes and never waken again."
And thus he spoke until he grew pale from emotion. For a time he was agitated, like a whirlwind, by the desire to dismount from his horse and embrace the feet of the maiden with his arms and cry: "Thou art that beloved one: therefore do not fly away, my dear bird!" But simultaneously he was seized by a prodigious fear of that night which would encompass him if his entreaty should prove futile.
So he merely uncovered his head, as if he wanted to display his heated forehead. A long silence, which fell between them, was only interrupted by the snorting of the horses, which now proceeded in an ambling pace, emitting under the bridles a white foam.
After which Miss Anney spoke in a subdued voice which sounded a little like a warning:
"I hear Pan Gronski approaching with Marynia."
In fact the other couple soon approached, happy and animated. Marynia, a few paces away, exclaimed:
"Pan Gronski was telling me such beautiful things about Rome. I am sorry that you did not hear them."
"More about the neighborhood of Rome, than Rome itself," said Gronski.