"The 'ghastly Witches' Sabbath' is dedicated to your cousin, Countess Wodin," Olga replies, taking up a piece of music from the piano. "There it is!" she points to the title-page "'Dedicated to the Frau Countess Irma Wodin, née Countess Trauenstein, by her devoted servant, etc.' I thought the thing might interest you."
"Not in the least. Be a good girl, and play the Miller's Song over again."
She nods amiably. Again the dreamy melody sighs among the strings of the piano. Lato, buried in thought, hums the words,--
"Where'er a true heart dies of love,
The lilies fade that grave above."
"Do you know the words too?" Olga exclaims, turning towards him.
"If you but knew how often I have heard that song sung!" he replies, with the absent air of a man whose thoughts are straying in a far past.
"At concerts?"
"No, in private."
"By a lady?" she asks, half persistently, half hesitatingly.
"Yes, grand inquisitor, by a lady; by a lady for whom I had a little tendresse--h'm!--a very sincere tendresse. She sang it to me every day. The very evening before her betrothal she sang it to me; and how deliciously sweet it was! Would you like to know who it was?"