She seemed to consider, fixing her eyes on his; but he turned his aside.
"Could you not make me understand?" she asked.
"Your lover, when he comes, will do that, madam," said he, and still he kept his eyes averted. And Osra wondered why he kept his eyes turned away; yet presently a faint smile curved her lips, and she said:
"It may be you might feel it, if you were not a churchman. But I do not. Many men have said they loved me, and I have felt something in my heart—but not this!"
"It will come," said the bishop.
"Does it come, then, to every one?"
"To most," he answered.
"Heigho, will it ever come to me?" she sighed.
And so they were at home. And Osra was for a long time very sorrowful for the fate of the lady whom the Prince of Glottenberg had loved; but since she saw Ludwig no more, and the joy of youth conquered her sadness, she ceased to mourn; and as she walked along she would wonder more and more what it might be, this great love that she did not feel.
"For none will tell me, not even the Bishop of Modenstein," said she.