"Some of ours did,--the band and the chorus; but I do not belong to either. You have no idea what it is to serve music under Milans-André; and when he came to-day, we all knew what it meant, who were wishing for a new life. It was a sort of electric snapping of our chains when he played to-day." "With that Volkslied?" "Yes," she responded, with tremulous agitation, "with that Volkslied. Who shall say he does not know all hearts?" "But it is not a Burschen song,[16] nor like one; it is like nothing else." "No, thank God! a song for the women as well as the men. You never heard such tones, nor I. Well it was that we could put words to them, everybody there." "And yet it was a song without words," said a voice so gentle that it stole upon my imagination like a sigh. "Oh, sir, is it you?" I started, for he was so near to us I was afraid he might have been vexed by hearing. But she was unchanged, unruffled as a flower of the conservatory by the wind without. She looked at him full, and he smiled into her very eyes. "I only heard your very last words. Do not be afraid, for I knew you were talking secrets, and that is a play I never stop. But, Carlomein, when you have played your play, I must carry you to your master, whom I might call _ours_, and beg his pardon for all my iniquities." "Oh, sir! as if you needed," I said; but the young lady answered,-- "_I_ shall retreat, then, sir,--and indeed this is not my place." She courtesied lowly as to a monarch, but without a shadow of timidity, or so much as the flutter of one rose-leaf, and passed out among the flowers, he looking after her strangely, wistfully. "Is not that a Cecilia, Carlomein?" "If you think so, sir." "You do not think it? You ought to know as well as I. As she is gone, let us go." And lightly as she fled, he turned back to follow her. But we had lost her when we came into the garden. As he passed along, however, also among the flowers, he touched first one and then another of the delicate plants abstractedly, until at length he pulled off one blossom of an eastern jasmine,--a beautiful specimen, white as his own forehead, and of perfume sweetest next his breath. "Oh!" said he gayly, "I have bereaved the soft sisterhood; but," he added earnestly, as he held the pale blossom between his fairest fingers, "I wonder whether they are unhappy so far from home. I wonder whether they _know_ they are away!" "I should think not, sir, or they would not blossom so beautifully." "That is nothing, and no reason, O Carlomein! for I have seen such a beautiful soul that was away from home, and it was very homesick; yet it was so fair, so very fair, that it would put out the eye of this little flower." I could not help saying, or quickly murmuring rather, "It must be your soul then, sir." "Is it mine to thee? It is to me another; but that does not spoil thy pretty compliment."