"Thou wast forced to leave thy dear Switzerland," said Otto; "that
was still harder!"

"I was then young," answered she. "The young tree may be easily
transplanted, but the old one has shot forth deeper roots. Denmark
is a good land--a beautiful land!"

"But not the west coast of Jutland!" exclaimed Otto. "For thy green
pasture hast thou here heath; for thy mountains, low sand-hills."

"Upon the Jura Mountains there is also heath," said Rosalie. "The
heath here often reminds me of my home on the Jura. There also is
it cold, and snow can fall already in August. The fir-trees then
stand as if powdered over."

"I love Switzerland, which I have never seen," pursued Otto. "Thy
relation has given me a conception of the picturesque magnificence
of this mountain-land. I have a plan, Rosalie. I know that in the
heart of a mountaineer homesickness never dies. I remember well how
thy eyes sparkled when thou toldest of the walk toward Le Locle and
Neufchatel; even as a boy I felt at thy words the light mountain
air. I rode with thee upon the dizzy height, where the woods lay
below us like potato fields. What below arose, like the smoke from
a charcoal-burner's kiln, was a cloud in the air. I saw the Alpine
chain, like floating cloud mountains; below mist, above dark shapes
with glancing glaciers."

"Yes, Otto," said Rosalie, and her eyes sparkled with youthful
fire; "so looks the Alpine chain when one goes from Le Locle to