“Then we are still rich enough to keep off deprivations for a time!” said Carlo.

“But when at length these last resources are exhausted?” asked Marianne—­“when we no longer have either money or diamonds—­how then?”

“Oh, then,” exclaimed Carlo, with a beaming face, “then will we labor for her!  That, also, will be a pleasure, Marianne!”

While the two were thus conversing, Natalie, with a happy smile and cheerful face, was still singing her hymn of joy for Paulo’s approaching return to the accompaniment of the rustling trees, the murmuring fountains, and the chirping birds in the myrtle-bush.  It was a beautiful night, and as the bright full moon now advanced between the pines, illuminating Natalie’s face and form, the partially intoxicated and perfectly happy Carlo whispered:  “Only look, Marianne! does she not resemble a blessed angel ready to spread her wings, and with the moonlight to mount up to the stars?  Only look, seems it not as if the moonbeams tenderly embraced her for the purpose of leading an angel back to its home?”

“May she, at least, one day, with such a happy smile, take her departure for the skies!” sighed Marianne, piously folding her hands.

At this moment a shrill, cutting wail interrupted Natalie’s song.  A string of her guitar had suddenly snapped asunder; frightened, almost angry, Natalie let the instrument fall to the earth, and again the strings resounded like lamentations and sighs.

“That is a bad omen,” sighed Natalie.  “How, if that should be true, and not my dream?”

And trembling with anxiety, the young maiden stretched forth her hands toward her friends.

“Carlo—­Marianne,” she anxiously said, “come here to me, protect me with your love from this mortal fear and anguish which has suddenly come over me.  See, the moon is hiding behind the clouds.  Ah, the whole world grows dark and casts a mourning veil over its bright face!”

And the timid child, clinging to Marianne’s arm, concealed her face in the bosom of her motherly friend.

“And you call that an omen!” said Carlo, with forced cheerfulness.  “This time, princess, I am the fatum which has alarmed you!  It is my own fault that this string broke.  It was already injured and half broken this evening when I tuned the guitar, but I hoped it would suffice for the low, sad melodies you now always play.  Yes, could I have known that you would have so exulted and shouted, I should have replaced it with another string, and this great misfortune would not have occurred.”

While speaking, he had again attached the string and drawn it tight.

“The defective string is quickly repaired, and you can recommence your hymn of joy,” he said, handing back the guitar to Natalie.

She sadly shook her head.  “It is passed,” said she, “I can exult and sing no more to-day, and have an aversion to this garden.  See how black and threatening these pines rise up, and do not these myrtle-bushes resemble large dark graves?  No, no; it frightens me here—­I can no longer remain among these graves and these watchers of the dead!  Come, let us go to our rooms!  It is night—­we will sleep and dream!  Come, let us immediately go into the house.”