She was born in Germany, and is my niece's
governess. Quite musical, too, I should say so. Just look at my two
Maltese cats! I call them Tristan and Isolde because they make noises in
the night. Don't you _loathe_ Wagner?"
It was time to go. Enamoured, Davos took his leave, promising to call
the next forenoon before he went back to Ischl. He held her fingers for
a brief moment and longed to examine their tips,--the artist still
struggled to subdue the man,--but the pressure he received was so
unmistakable that he hurried away, fearing to betray his emotion. He
hovered in the vicinity of the house, longing for more music. He was
disappointed. For a full hour he wandered through the dusty lanes in the
faded light of an old moon. When he reached his chamber, it was long
past one o'clock; undaunted, his romantic fervour forced him to the
window, and he watched the shining lake. He fell asleep thinking of
Constantia. But he dreamed of Cilli, the Japanese maid with the hideous
eyes.
III
Not only that morning, but every morning for two weeks, did Marco Davos
visit Alt-Aussee.
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