I held both Clara's hands, and she looked at me with
those honest blue eyes of hers, and said in a moved voice:--
"It is only to you I say it openly, that I never was so sorry to go
away from anywhere as from here. There is no time to say much, with
all these people around us, but believe me, I am sorry to go. At
Frankfurt I meet many people, great artists, scientists; only there is
a difference,--you are like one of the more delicate instruments. As
regards yourself, I will not say anything."
"You will let me write to you?"
"I will write too. I wanted to ask you that. I have my music, but it
is not always sufficient now. I think you too will want to hear from
me now and then; though you may have many friends, you have none more
sincere and devoted than I. I am very foolish; anything upsets me, and
it is time to go."
"We are both wanderers on the earth, you as an artist, I as a
Bohemian; therefore it will not be farewell, but au revoir."
"Yes, au revoir, and that speedily. You too are an artist. You may not
play or paint, but you are an artist all the same. I saw it the first
moment I met you,--and also that you may seem happy, but are very sad
at heart. Remember there is a German girl who will be always as a
sister to you."
I raised her hand to my lip, and she, thinking I was going, said
quickly:--
"There is still time, they have only rung the second bell!"
But I really wished to leave.
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