"Permit me to ask you one question, Fräulein," said Heinrich,--then hesitated a moment, and continued in a very different tone: "How is it possible that time has passed you by without leaving more traces?"
"Yes, it is singular. I have really remained twenty years behind my true age. The machinery continued to move, but the hands were stopped by a great shock, and never overtook the time. It is a strange, sorrowful story, and some day when we are sitting by my cozy, singing tea-urn I will tell you about it."
"A sorrowful story?" asked Heinrich. "I should have thought you were very happy and contented."
"Yes, I am now. Time effaces everything, and I seem to myself like a transfigured spirit. I have no longer anxieties or wishes, look upon life calmly and impartially, and love all men. My body, as you see, is no very heavy burden, and thus, thank God, I am not so widely separated from the angels."
There was such a depth of earnestness concealed under these jesting words that Heinrich, strangely moved, passed his hand over his brow. It seemed as if a good genius with a gentle smile had raised him to a height from whence he could view at a single glance all the perishableness and emptiness of life. "Oh, who could bring heaven so near as you?" he said, at last.
"Dear friend," she replied, with a winning glance, "there is also a heaven upon earth in our own breasts. Do not seek it without, but within your heart; then you will not come into heaven for the first time when you die, but remain in it always."
"My dear Fräulein'," pleaded Heinrich, "permit me now and then to linger a short time in yours until I have created one of my own. Will you?"
"Certainly; with the greatest pleasure. It does you honor that, without any other design, you can take pleasure in spending a few hours with an old lady like myself; and I assure you that your good intention will be rewarded,--rely upon it."
"I do not doubt it," said Heinrich; "but I ask no other reward than your favor and counsel in many things that oppress my heart."
"I will tell you,"--Veronica cast a hasty glance at the great clock. "Come and take tea with me to-morrow evening. Some of my chosen friends will be here, and I am curious to see how they will please you. One thing I can positively assure you beforehand: you will find only good men with me. Old and independent as I am, I need not receive any except those whom I love; and only such as have preserved a childlike, unassuming character (now, unfortunately, so rarely found) take pleasure in my simple nature."