Accordingly, after remaining silent well-nigh a minute, Walburga yielded to his request and proceeded to tell him more about herself. “Moida and I and two others, sir,” she resumed, “have a home together—which makes four of us in one small lodging.”
“Four!” repeated Conrad, just a little disturbed and wondering who the other two might be.
“Yes, four. There is myself, Moida, Caro, and a nightingale.”
“Oh! indeed—Caro and a nightingale,” ejaculated her admirer, with a sense of relief he was hardly able to conceal.
“And never was a more peaceful home. Up under the roof it is; but that gives us fresh air, and into our dormer windows the sunshine comes sooner than into any other windows on the street.”
“And you have the sweetest of all birds to sing for you,” observed Conrad.
“Yes, indeed. But I sometimes think of giving my pet his freedom. Moida laughs at me for it. Moida is——”
“Not in the least sentimental,” interrupted the other, with a smile.
“Well, true, she is not. But my bird is now a prisoner, and I am sure he must feel lonesome where he is.”
“Oh! believe me, he is far happier as your prisoner than if he were enjoying the freedom of all the woods in Bavaria,” said Conrad, with a faint tremor in his voice.