“Indeed!” exclaimed Walburga, answering his emotion by a crimson spot on her cheek.
“Well, you may be right,” he added presently. “Your kind heart may tell you that your nightingale sighs for some other little bird to love.”
At these words the sweet, pink blush spread itself with the quickness of light over Walburga’s whole cheek, and she answered:
“I declare, ’tis just what I told Moida.”
“And what did she say?”
“Moida said—and no harm in repeating it—she said Ulrich was her nightingale.”
“Her nightingale! Well, really, your friend is sentimental; and I envy your brother. It must be the greatest of earthly joys to be happily wedded, as they soon will be.”
Here Walburga’s countenance grew suddenly pensive, and she murmured to herself: “Ay, the greatest of earthly joys.”
Conrad noticed the change in her expression and wondered at it. Then he thought to himself: “’Tis time for me to withdraw; I may be wearying her.”
But ere he retired he said: “May I come again, gracious lady, tomorrow or the day after? I sometimes have melancholy moods, but these lovely pictures bring the sunshine back to my heart; and the loveliest picture of all is in this part of the gallery.”