Jettè and Gustav coloured violently.
'Well, we can discuss that point to-morrow. This evening, at least, you will remain with us, on account of its being Jettè's betrothal day. Come, give me your arm, and let us take a walk; it is charming, yonder in the garden--within the summer-house one is like to faint from the heat.'
We strolled on, two and two, in the sweet moonlight; sometimes each pair sauntering at a little distance from the other--Hannè and I chatting busily, while Gustav and Jettè often walked in the silence of a happiness too new and too deep for the language of every-day life.
'Is it really true that you are going to leave us?' asked Hannè.
'It is, indeed, too true; I must quit this place.'
'Why? if I may venture to ask. But do not tell me any untruth.'
'Because I have been here too long already--because a longer residence among you all ... near you, dear Hannè, would but destroy my peace.'
'I expressly desired you not to tell me any lies. Good Heavens! is it impossible for you to speak truth two minutes together?'
'And is it impossible for you to speak seriously for two minutes together? What I have just said is the honest truth.'
'Humph! However, tell me, is it true or not true that you are engaged in Berlin? Who have you hoaxed--Jettè and me, or my father and mother? I beseech you speak truth this once.'