" The thought filled me with joy, and I resolved to find
an answer to it in the course of the day. Thenceforth I bestowed all
my attention upon Clara, and was more attentive to her than I had ever
been before. In the woods whither we had driven, I walked with her,
glancing furtively now and then at Aniela, who remained with the
Suiatynskis. Clara was in rapture with the woods, which are indeed at
their best now, the fresh green of the leafy trees forming a perfect
canopy over the more sombre looking pines.
The sun filtering across the branches converted the earth, carpeted
with ferns and tender mosses, into a delicate golden embroidery. There
were the cheerful voices of spring around us, the cuckoo's call and
the woodpecker's knock-knock at the trees. When we joined the others
I asked Clara to translate into music the voices of spring. She said
there was already a _Fruehlingslied_ singing within her, and she
would try to give it expression. Truly she looked as if the song was
there,--besides she is like a great harp that speaks only in sounds.
Her face was bright with burning blushes; Aniela instead looked
fagged, though she evidently tried to keep up with the Sniatynskis,
who were as lively as a couple of school-children on their holiday.
They began finally to race with each other, and Clara joined in the
sport, which she ought not to have done, considering her size, as the
quick motion was anything but graceful,--nay, almost ridiculous.
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