ed his hands across his eyes, and said:
"Annele, may I venture to ask you a question?"

"Yes, I would tell you anything."

"Don't take it amiss; but is it true that you are as good as betrothed
to the Techniker?"

"Thank you for asking me that in a straightforward way. There, you have
my hand as a pledge that there is not a word of truth in it;--there is
nothing between us."

Lenz held her hand fast, and said: "May I ask you one thing more?"

"Ask whatever you choose, you shall have an honest answer."

"Tell me why your manner is so different to me when Pilgrim is present?
have you and he had any quarrel?"

"May this be poison that I am drinking if I don't tell you the truth,"
said Annele, taking up Lenz's glass and sipping out of it; though Lenz
assured her that there was no need of such strong asseverations--he
could not bear them.

She continued: "If all men were like you, no asseverations would be
necessary. Pilgrim and I are constantly teasing and tormenting each
other, but he does not know me thoroughly; and when you are here I
cannot bear all these silly jokes, and mountebank ways: but now you
must promise me one thing: if there is anything you want to know about
me, ask no one but myself; give me your hand on it."

They clasped each other's hands, and Annele continued in a sorrowful
tone: "I am the daughter of the landlord of an inn; I am not so well
off as most girls: they are not obliged to receive any one who chooses
to come in, and to speak to them and answer them; so I often say sharp
things, but I am not always what I appear--I may tell you that, and I
do tell it to you."

"I never should have thought that; I never could have believed that any
sorrowful thought had ever crossed your mind; I always supposed that
all day long you were as merry as a bird."

"Yes, indeed, I would much rather be merry," answered Annele, her face
quickly changing; "I don't like sad music either. How pretty and gay
that air was from the 'Magic Flute'! it almost made one dance."

The conversation now turned again on the subject of music, and the
instrument that had today left the village. Lenz liked to talk
about it, and mentioned his having giving it a convoy part of the
way. He would gladly have called out to all packers, waggoners, and
sailors--"Be cautious with it! it is a pity you can't hear what it
contains."

Never till this evening had Lenz been the last remaining guest in the
inn; but he felt no inclinati