“That may be,” answered Ulrich. “She probably has no money to buy any for herself.” To be sure, the next day at twilight Carmen wore a rose in her hair. Sanchez exulted, and drew Ulrich out upon the balcony. The beauty glanced at him, blushed, and returned the fair-haired boy’s salutation with a slight bend of the head. The gate-keeper’s little daughter was a pretty child, and Ulrich had no fear of doing what Sanchez ventured. On the third day he again accompanied him to the balcony, and this time, after silently calling upon the “word,” pressed his hand upon his heart, just as Carmen looked at him. The young girl blushed again, waved her fan, and then bent her little head so low, that it almost touched the embroidery. The next evening she secretly kissed her fingers to Ulrich. From this time the young lover preferred to seek the balcony without Sanchez. He would gladly have called a few tender words across, or sung to his lute, but that would not do, for people were constantly passing to and fro in the court-yard. Then the thought occurred to him, that he could speak to the fair one by means of a picture. A small panel was soon found, he had plenty of brushes and colors to choose from, and in a few minutes, a burning heart, transfixed by an arrow, was completed. But the thing looked horribly red and ugly, so he rejected it, and painted--imitating one of Titian’s angels, which specially pleased him--a tiny Cupid, holding a heart in his hand. He had learned many things from the master, and as the little figure rounded into shape, it afforded him so much pleasure, that he could not leave it, and finished it the third day. It had not entered his mind to create a completed work of art, but the impetuosity of youth, revelling in good fortune, had guided his brush. The little Cupid bent joyously forward, drawing the right leg back, as if making a bow. Finally Ulrich draped about him a black and yellow scarf, such as he had often seen the young Austrian archduke wear, and besides the pierced heart, placed a rose in the tiny, ill-drawn hand. He could not help laughing at his “masterpiece” and hurried out on the balcony with the wet painting, to show it to Carmen. She laughed heartily too, answered his salutations with tender greetings, then laid aside her embroidery and went back into the room, but only to immediately reappear at the window again, holding up a prayer-book and extending towards him the eight fingers of her industrious little hands. He motioned that he understood her, and at eight o’clock the next morning was kneeling by her side at mass, where he took advantage of a favorable opportunity to whisper: “Beautiful Carmen!”