"You mean, Maria, that if you and I were not musical,--supposing such a thing to be possible,--he would not like us nor treat us as he does now?" "I know he would not." "But then it would be impossible for us to be as we are if we were changed as to music, and we could not love as we do." "I don't think that has anything to do with it, and indeed I am sure not. You see, Carl, you make me speak to you openly. I have never done so before, and I should not, but that you force me to it,--not that I dislike to speak of it, for I think of nothing else,--but that it might be troublesome." Could it be that she was about, in any sense, to open her heart? Mine felt as if it had collapsed, and would never expand again; but I was very rejoiced, for many reasons. "Oh, Maria! if I could hear you talk all day about your own feelings, I should know really that you cared to be my friend; but I could not ask you to do so, nor wish, unless you did." "Carl, if you were not younger than I am I should hesitate, and still more if, where I came from, we did not become grown up so fast that our lives seem too quick, too bright! Oh! I have often thought so, and shall think so again; but I will not now, because I intend to be very happy. You know, Carl, you cannot understand, though you may _feel_, what I feel when I think of Florimond. And it is possible you think him higher than I do, for you do him justice now." "I suppose I do,--I am very certain that I adore his playing." "I do not care for his playing, or scarcely. And yet I am aware that it is the playing of a master, of a musician, and I am proud to say so. Still, I would rather be that violin than hear it, and endure the sweet anguish he pours into it than be as I am, so far more divided from him than it is." "Maria!" "But Florimond does not mind my feeling this, or I should not say it,--on the contrary, he feels the same; and when first Heaven made him love me, he felt it even then." "Was that long ago, Maria?"