" "Hush,
hush!" I replied; "the Countess is still in Rome." "So much the
better," said the painter; "come then and drink her health." And in
spite of all I could say he forced me to return to the garden with
him.
It looked quite deserted. The merry company had departed, and were
sauntering toward Rome, each lad with his lass upon his arm. We
could hear them talking and laughing among the vineyards in the quiet
evening, until at last their voices died away in the valley below,
lost in the rustling of the trees and the murmur of the stream. I
stayed with my painter and Herr Eckbrecht, which was the name of the
other young painter who had been quarreling with the maid. The moon
shone brilliantly through the tall, dark evergreens; a candle on the
table before us flickered in the breeze and gleamed over the wine
spilled copiously around it. I had to sit down with my companions, and
my painter chatted with me about my native village, my travels, and
my plans for the future. Herr Eckbrecht had seated upon his knee the
pretty girl who had brought us our wine, and was teaching her the
accompaniment of a song on the guitar. Her slender fingers soon picked
out the correct chords, and they sang together an Italian song;
first he sang a verse, and then the girl sang the next; it sounded
deliciously, in the clear, bright evening. When the girl was called
away, Herr Eckbrecht, taking no further notice of us, leaned back on
his bench with his feet on a low stool and played and sang many an
exquisite song.
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