I learned from her that little Sonia lived in the
neighborhood, and that her aunt had come to look for her in our house.
She would not go away from me, and the old servant had to call her
mother, who only persuaded her to return home with great difficulty.
She wanted to take me with her, and she was miserable when they told
her that my mamma would not allow me. The next morning early she was
there again, and called to me from the threshold, 'I am going to stay
with you all day, Wilhelm, the whole day.' I had to go to school,
however, and I told her so. She wanted to go with me, and cried and
sobbed when they prevented her. Then her relations took her home, and I
did not see her again. Later I heard that the same afternoon she was
taken ill with diphtheria, and in her illness she cried so much for me
that her mother came to mine to beg her to send me to her. My mother
said nothing to me about it, fearing I might catch the disease. Sonia
died the second day, and my name was the last word on her lips. I cried
very much when they told me, and since then I have never forgotten my
little Sonia."

"A strange story," said Loulou softly; "such a little girl to fall in
love so suddenly. Yes," she went on, "if she had grown up--"

She could not say more, as Wilhelm, who had come near her, looked at
her with wide-open, far-seeing eyes, and suddenly threw his arms round
her. She cried out softly, and sank on his breast. "Loulou," "Wilhelm,"
was all they said. It had happened so quickly, so unconsciously, that
they both felt as if they were awaking from a dream, as Loulou a minute
later freed herself from his burning lips and encircling arms, and
Wilhelm, confused and hardly master of his senses, stood before her.
They turned silently homeward. She trembled all over and did not dare
to take his arm. He inwardly reproached himself, yet he felt very happy
in spite of it. Then, before they had reached the summit of the castle
hill, he gathered all his courage together and said anxiously:

"Can you forgive me, Loulou? I love you so much."

"I love you too, Wilhelm," she answered, and stretched out her hand to
him.

"Dare I speak to your mother, my own Loulou?" whispered he into her ear.

"Not here, Wilhelm," she said quickly, "not here. You do not know my
parents well enough yet. Wait till we are in Berlin."

"I will do as you like," sighed he, and took leave of her with an
eloquent glance, as they reached the hotel.

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