In days gone by, solitude and the absence of any who might have attracted her attention, had caused the power of love which Providence has given impartially to each of us, to rest intact and tranquil in her bosom; and now she had lived too long in the sad happiness of feeling the presence of this something in herself, and of now and again opening the secret chalice of her heart to contemplate its riches, to be able thoughtlessly to lavish its contents on anyone. God grant she may enjoy this chary bliss to the grave! Who knows whether it is not the best and strongest? and whether it is not the only true and possible happiness?
“O Lord, my God,” she thought, “can it be that I have lost happiness and youth in vain, and that it will never be … never be? Can it be true?”
And she looked into the depths of the sky, lit up by the moon and covered by light fleecy clouds that, veiling the stars, crept nearer to the moon, “If that highest white cloudlet touches the moon it will be a sign that it is true,” thought she. The misty, smoke-coloured strip ran across the bottom half of the bright disc, and, little by little, the light on the grass, on the tops of the limes, and on the pond, grew dimmer, and the black shadows of the trees less distinct. As if to harmonise with the gloomy shadows that spread over the world outside, a light wind ran through the leaves and brought to the window the scent of dewy leaves, of moist earth, and of blooming lilacs.
“But it is not true,” she consoled herself. “There now, if the nightingale sings tonight, it will be a sign that what I’m thinking is all nonsense, and I need not despair,” thought she. And she long sat in silence waiting for something, while again all became bright and full of life, and then again and again the cloudlets ran across the moon, making everything dim. She was beginning to fall asleep as she sat by the window, when the quivering trills of a nightingale came ringing from below, across the pond, and woke her. The country maiden opened her eyes. And once more her soul was renewed with fresh joy by this mysterious union with this nature