You have often called me a poetess,
and I will now believe I am, and no longer wish to see another. I will
suffice for myself! Come, I will immediately sing you a song, a festival
song, my friend!"
And taking her guitar, Natalie struck some joyous accords; but Count
Paulo lightly laid his hands upon the strings so as to silence them, and
drawing the tips of her fingers to his lips, with a slight shaking of
his head, he said: "Not now, my charming poetess, I am not worthy of
hearing you."
"And it is late," added Cecil, coming as it were to the aid of his
master.
The count rose. "Yes, you are right--it is late," said he, "and I must
not longer keep Natalie from her slumber. Come, my sweet child, you must
retire; you must sleep, that your brow may beam with blooming freshness
to-morrow!"
Natalie made no answer; with a light sigh she mechanically took the
count's offered arm.
Cecil preceded them with the lantern in his hand. Thus they proceeded up
the alley leading to the villa, all three silent and thoughtful. The sky
had become obscured, a black cloud intercepted the light of the moon,
and Natalie's charmed garden was suddenly wrapped in gloom.
A cold shudder ran through her delicate frame.
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