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When at last Roschen raised her rosy, happy face from her father’s breast, she was so full of the wonder that had come to pass that she did not perceive his weary look, nor how pale he was; yet less pale now than a little time before when his face was unseen by her.

And presently the rosiness of this sweet Roschen grew still deeper as the shop door opened, with a great tinkling of its little bell, and Ludwig entered. Andreas arose from his chair slowly–but neither of them noticed how feeble and labored were his motions, like those of a weak old man–and clasped in both of his own Ludwig’s great brown hand, while with a look of love he said: “It is as thou wouldst have it, my son. This dear rose of my growing will bloom in thy garden now”–and he led Ludwig to where Roschen, who indeed was a true rose just then, was standing and put her hand in his.

And then, with a wistful eagerness, he went on: “And thou wilt care for her very tenderly and well, in my place? Thou canst not understand what my love has been; part of it, I know, has been foolishness–and that which thou wilt give her, if it be strong and steadfast, will be far better than ever was mine. For it is the way of life”–and here the voice of Andreas trembled and fell a little–“that for young hearts love also must be young.”

“With God’s help, dear father, I will be true and good to her,” Ludwig answered, speaking with a stout heartiness that gave the ring of truth to his words; “and I will care well for her and for thee too.”

“For me it will not be long,” Andreas answered; “but give the care which thou wouldst have given to me to these my birds.”

“Do not make us sad to-day, dear father, by such gloomy words,” said Roschen, as she put her arms around his neck. “To-day a beautiful time of happiness has begun for us.”

“Truly a beautiful time of happiness has begun,” Andreas answered; “and I thank God that I have seen its beginning–for when grief comes to thee, and grief must come to us all, my daughter, thou hast now a strong young heart to stay and comfort thee. Yes, this is truly the beginning of a happy time.” It was with a very tender smile that Andreas spoke these cheery words; and he added, cheerily: “Now go out into the Square, my children, and say to each other the words which I know are in your hearts. I will be glad in your happiness as I sit here among my birds.”

And so Andreas, for the second time in his life, was left alone with his birds.

As he sat there, desolate, he buried his face in his hands, and between his thin fingers there was a glistening of tears. It was so hard to bear! They might have waited just a little while, he thought; it would not have been very long. For he forgot, and perhaps it would be unfair to blame him for forgetting, his own desire that before that little time should pass his Roschen should have assured to her the good care-taker whom she surely would need when the season of sorrow came. A little thrill of pain, a premonition of which he knew the meaning, ran through him.

Then it was that the Kronprinz began to sing. The notes at first were low and liquid, and they fell soothingly upon the ears, and so into the heart of this poor Andreas; and as they rose higher and fuller and clearer, light began to show for him where only darkness had been. The other birds, fired to emulation by these mellow warblings, joined in a sweet chorus, above which the strong rich notes of the Kronprinz rose in triumphant waves of harmony. And gladness came then into the heart of Andreas, and great thankfulness; for as the music of the birds exalted him he seemed to see with a strange clearness into the depths of the future, and all that he saw there promised well for those whom he loved. Such wonderful music was this that the very air about him seemed to be growing goldenly radiant; and with a certain awe creeping into his heart he seemed to hear low echoes of a music even more ravishingly beautiful that came faintly yet with a bell-like clearness from very far away.

Truly there was something strange about this music, for even Bielfrak, who was grown to be a deaf, rheumatic old dog now, heard it and was greatly moved by it. From his comfortable rug in the corner he raised himself painfully upon his haunches, and, pointing his noise upward, uttered a long melancholy howl. Then he came by slow effort across the room to where his master sat and laid his head upon his master’s knee. And there was a puzzled look upon Bielfrak’s face, for never before had he thus manifested the love that was in his honest heart without finding a quick response to it in the gentle touch of his master’s hand. Yet now that hand remained most strangely still, and it was strangely white, and Bielfrak drew back suddenly from touching it–finding it most strangely cold.

The birds had been frightened into silence by Bielfrak’s howl, but now they all burst forth again into the song of strange and wonderful sweetness that of a sudden they had learned to sing. In waves of harmony the chorus rose and fell, and above all sounded the notes of the Kronprinz, rich, full, clear, so delicately perfect as to seem a blending of sunlight and of sound. And in this song there was a strain that seemed to tell of restful triumph and eternal joy. And on the gentle, kindly face of Andreas, as he sat there so very quietly while all the air around him with these sweet sounds was vibrant, there was a most tender smile that told of perfect peace.