"Yes, darling, yes," replied the mother. She could speak no more, for from her heart the pent-up sorrow burst suddenly forth. She only murmured, "Jesus, my Jesus!" and laying her head on the table, wept as those weep from whom death robs their dearest treasure.
And so it was. When she raised her head and looked at the child, the eyes of the little musician were open but fixed, the countenance was grave, solemn, and rigid. The sunbeam had disappeared.
"May you rest in peace, little Janko!"
Next day the Baron and his family returned from Italy to the Castle. The daughter of the house and her suitor were there amongst the rest.
"What a delightful country Italy is!" remarked the gentleman.
"Yes, and the people! They are a nation of artists! It is a pleasure to note and encourage their talent," answered the young lady.
The larches rustled over Janko's grave!