wish you had gone when you started."

"Why?"

"I am sure that you, who always understand, know why."

"After a while will do," he said easily, "when we are more tired of
ourselves." He paused. "Perhaps Thursday," he suggested.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, in spite of herself.

"Why 'oh'?"

"You are so positive that we shall be _ennuyes_ by Thursday."

"Yes," he replied tranquilly, "we see so much of us together that it
cannot last long so. Indeed it was for that that I was quite willing to
go to-day, but on the train I begin to think otherwise, and my otherwise
thoughts are become so strong that I find myself obliged to get down at
Aarburg."

"And Leipsic?"

"Ah, for that you were so charming to send for me to-night and tell me
how all has been I will tell you all the truth of Leipsic. It is there
that my professor lives, the man who has teach me all that I know. He is
to me the most dear out of all the world, for he gave to me my music,
which is my life and my soul. And so you may understand that I speak
truth indeed when I say that I have much interest in Leipsic."

Rosina nodded, a sympathetic smile upon her lips.

"But we must go back to the hotel now," she said sadly; "it is nearly
ten o'clock."

"And I may come to-morrow morning and we shall make a promenade
together, _n'est-ce pas_?" he said eagerly; "it is so good, you and I
together, these days. How can I make you know how I feel if you have not
the same feeling,--the feeling that all the clouds and all the grass are
singing, that all about us is perfect accord of sound, when we are only
free to laugh and to talk as we may please."

"But I ought to go on to my friends to-morrow," she said, "you must know
that."

"But I will go there."

"To Constance?"

"Yes, surely."

"Oh, monsieur, that will not do at all!"

"Why will it not do at all?"

"I don't want you following me to Constance as you did to Zurich."

"But I will not follow you; I will this time go on the same train with
you."

"Oh," she said, in despair at the wide space between his views and those
of the world in general, "you cannot do that, it would not look well at
all."

He stared at her in surprise.

"Who will it look unwell to?"

"Don't say 'unwell,' say 'not well.'"

"Not well; who will see it not well?"

"Ah," she said, shaking her head, "there is no telling who would see
only too well, and that is just the trouble."

Von Ibn knit his black brows.

"I do not under