re-turned something in her hand beneath the table, and tried to rouse
her courage to the point of making full confession, the old man
quietly dismissed the subject.

"Now, a health to you, my Anna," he said gaily and raised high his
glassful of cheap wine. "May the good God give you all the happiness
your father wishes for you! More than that I cannot say, for I wish
you all the happiness in all the world. Ah, when I look at you I am so
full of joy! It is as if sweet birds were singing in my heart.
Wait--you shall hear!"

Forgetting the great feast, as, seized by the impulse to express
himself in the completest way he knew he turned from her with a bright
smile, he crossed the tiny room and took down from the mantlepiece his
flute.

"Ah, play for me!" she cried, delighted, both at the prospect of the
music, which she loved with a real passion, and at the prospect of the
brief reprieve the diversion would afford her from the revelation
which she had to make.

[Illustration: It was as if the "sweet birds singing in his heart" had
risen and were perched, all twittering and cooing, chirping, carolling
upon his lips]

He pretended shy reluctance. "No; in your heart you do not really wish
to hear. You have grown tired of the old flute, long ago."

She laughed and rose and went to him. "Bad boy! He must be teased! I
am _not_ tired of it. To me it is in all the world, the sweetest