"A fine prophet!" exclaimed the girls. Swaning was heartily pleased. They made some objections, but all to no purpose. They were obliged to reach out their sweet lips to him. Henry blushed only on account of his earnest neighbor; otherwise he would have loudly rejoiced in the privilege of the poet. Veronika was among the garland bearers. She came suddenly back and said to Henry, "truly, is it not a fine thing to be a poet?"
Henry did not trust himself to take advantage of this question. Excess of joy and the earnestness of first love were contending in his breast. The charming Veronika was joking with the others, and in the meanwhile he found time somewhat to quench his joy. Matilda told him that she played the guitar. "Ah!" said he, "how I should love to learn it from you. I have for a long time desired it."
"My father instructed me; he plays it matchlessly," said she blushing.
"I believe, however," said Henry, "that I can learn it more easily from you. How delighted I should be to hear you sing."
"Do not expect too much."
"O!" said Henry, "what may I not expect, since your speech merely is song, and your form is expressive of heavenly music."
Matilda was silent. Her father commenced a conversation, in which Henry spoke with the most lively spirit. Those who were near wondered at the fluency of the young man's speech, and the richness of his imagery. Matilda gazed upon him with silent attention. She seemed to delight in his words, which were still more clearly explained by his speaking features. His eyes appeared unusually brilliant. He turned at times towards Matilda, who was astonished by the expression of his face. In the warmth of conversation, he involuntarily seized her hand, and she could not but sanction much of what he said, with a gentle pressure. Klingsohr knew how to keep up his enthusiasm, and gradually drew his whole soul from his lips. At last all rose. There was a general confusion. Henry remained by the side of Matilda. They stood apart unobserved. He clasped her hand and kissed it tenderly. She suffered him to hold it without opposition, and looked upon him with unspeakable kindness. He could not restrain himself, bent towards her, and kissed her lips. She was taken unawares and involuntarily returned his ardent kiss. "Sweet Matilda,"--"Dear Henry,"--this was all they could say to each other. She pressed his hand, and then mingled with her companions. Henry stood as if in Heaven. His mother came to him. He told her all concerning his love.
"Is it not a good thing that we have visited Augsburg?" said she. "Does it not in truth please you?"
"Dear mother," said Henry, "I had not represented it to myself thus. It is most glorious."
The remainder of the evening passed away in infinite pleasure. The old people played, talked, and observed the dancing. The music undulated through the hall like a pleasure-sea, and bore along the enraptured youth upon its surface.