Adelaide opened it and I went on with my chant. I know now how dreadful it must have sounded to her.
“Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Brüsten der Natur—”
“May!” said Adelaide, faintly.
I turned in my walk and looked at her. White as death, she held the paper toward me with a steady hand, and I, the song of joy slain upon my lips, took it. It was a brief note from von Francius.
“I let you know, my lady, first of all that I have accepted the post of Musik-Direktor in ——. It will be made known to-morrow.”
I held the paper and looked at her. Now I knew the reason of her pallid looks. I had indeed been blind. I might have guessed better.
“Have you read it?” she asked, and she stretched her arms above her head, as if panting for breath.
“Adelaide!” I whispered, going up to her; “Adelaide—oh!”
She fell upon my neck. She did not speak, and I, speechless, held her to my breast.
“You love him, Adelaide?” I said, at last.