been out of my wits—actually mad, neither more nor less. And you are to blame!”
“I?”
“Yes, you. It was you who first brought the girl forward; no one had thought of her, no one noticed her but you. But now, upon my word, I assure you. I have never seen anything so peerless myself—so—is it not true? Indeed, in all Europe I have never seen so confounded a curly-headed wonder; have you? I could find no peace; I was bewitched. Everywhere and always she kept coming in my way. I went on a voyage, I came back again, impossible—am I not right? Did not know at first who she was. The fisher maiden, they said—the Spanish maiden, they should have said, the gypsy, the witch, all fire, eyes, bosom, hair—eh? How she sparkles, glows, skips, laughs, blushes—a perfect little witch. I chased her, you see, up among the trees in the forest—one calm evening—there she stood, there I stood; a few words, a song, a dance—and then? Well, I gave her my chain; as sure as I live I had not thought of it a minute before. Next time, the same place, the same chase; she was frightened, and I—yes, can you believe it?—I could not speak one mortal word, dared not even touch her;
