“Is that the one?” she asked. “Yes; it is about dreams.”
“That is the one I meant. It is the most wonderful thing in the world!”
“I never thought very much about the words. The words of German songs are often very foolish.”
“After they’re translated. Which means that they oughtn’t to be translated. But I’ll admit that my German’s about all gone, except the words of this song.”
“Your hold on the language must be pretty slight then,”—and she laughed carelessly.
“My hold on everything is slight,—except for the song.”
“That’s very curious,” she said, in matter-of-fact tones, “if you never heard it but once. And it’s only about dreams anyhow!”
“Yes, it’s only about dreams—a dream; but it’s the sweetest dream in the world, it means—”
“A dream!” and she laughed again, but it was a mirthless little laugh.
He paused and looked out over the moonlit corn-field; his heart was beating fast. She felt for a moment that she must turn and fly from him; but he started forward again and she followed.