Thus, for a few moments they glided on in silence, “I am waiting for your answer,” said he at length, “dear—darling Anna. I may call you so, may I not?”
No distinctly spoken word came from her lips; but she uttered a sound, very pleasant to hear, though quite indefinite. It was a gentle breath, something like a suppressed sigh, and sounded like a veil which her maiden modesty cast over the unpronounced answer.
Yes—but—might it not have been her breathing somewhat quickened by the exertion of dancing?
With the blindness and bungling so peculiar to true lovers, Charles at once interpreted that sigh as a sign of fatigue, and somewhat anxiously he said to her:
“You are tired! shall I take you to your seat?”
“Oh no,” said she in a scarcely audible whisper, “I am not at all tired. Do let us go on dancing.”
However inexperienced in such matters van Nerekool might be, those words were plain enough. “With the greatest pleasure, dear Anna,” he cried, as he led his partner on amid the maze of dancers.
“You give me leave then to call you dear—dearest Anna?”
One eloquent look from the fair girl was the answer.
“Oh then,” continued he passionately, “let me tell you how dear you are to me, how dearly, how fondly I love you.”