"But, Cousin Natalie—that is a very pretty name;" here he blushed engagingly—"wine makes one drunk."
"Certainly, if one gets drunk."
"Then, how can you drink wine?"
The question and the serious manner of its asking were incomprehensible to the girl, who laughed at the incongruity of the ideas suggested by drinking wine on the one hand, and getting drunk on the other. Then the subject was dropped; perhaps they recognized that it was enveloped in clouds of misunderstanding which were impenetrable.
The glen in which dwells the echo of Forellenbach is like a roofless cave, or a great well with a side entrance. Its floor being wet, Natalie remained at the entrance, trusting there to hear whatever might be worth hearing. Leonard passed into the well.
He looked back. She stood in the light, smiling upon this new-found cousin, who had such strange ideas as to wine, but withal, her eyes were kindly. If either had any premonition of the future, it must have been false or partial, or they had not faced each other smiling. He had intended to shout aloud her pretty name and thus to test the echo; but instinct warned him that this was hardly fitting. So, perhaps, with a vague desire to connect her with the trial, he compromised, and the word he shouted was "Claghorn."
It was returned to him in various modulations from all sides. The effect was startling, but even more so were the words that fell upon his ear as the echoes died away: "Who are you, and what do you want?"
The question came from above. Leonard, looking upward, saw the face of a youth who, from the top of the cliff, was peering down. Upon the head of this person, rakishly worn, was a blue cap, braided with silver and red velvet. The face had penetrating eyes, rather stern, and a mouth shaded by a dark moustache. The question was repeated, it seemed to Leonard truculently: "What do you want?"
The words were German, but easily understood. Leonard answered in English: "I don't want you."
"Then, why did you call me?" Now the words were English and the tone awakened Leonard's resentment. "Do you suppose that every one that tries the echo is calling you?" he asked.