"Ah--I do wis it so much!"
"Ehem!"
"Begin," said the Countess. "Behold me. I listen. I hear everysin, and will remembaire it forava."
The only thing that the Senator could think of was the verse which had been running in his head for the last few days, its measured rhythm keeping time with every occupation:
"'My willing soul would stay--'"
"Stop one moment," said the Countess. "I weesh to learn it from you;" and she looked fondly and tenderly up, but instantly dropped her eyes.
"'Ma willina sol wooda sta--'"
"In such a frame as this,'" prompted the Senator.
"'Een socha framas zees.' Wait--'Ma willina sol wooda sta in socha framas zees.' Ah, appropriat! but could I hope zat you were true to zose lines, my Senator? Well?"
"'And sit and sing herself away,'" said the Senator, in a faltering voice, and breaking out into a cold perspiration for fear of committing himself by such uncommonly strong language.