In the first cool hours of the morning she walked a little in
the perfumed air of the pine woods, and the rest of the time she
devoted to a voluminous correspondence, which seemed to be her one
passion. Thus Loulou was alone nearly always in the morning, and
frequently in the afternoon as well, and quite contented to ramble
with Wilhelm through the woods, or to sit with him in the ruins,
where they learned to know each other, and chattered without
ceasing.
The subject of conversation mattered not. They had the story of
their short lives to relate to one another. Loulou's was soon told.
Her narrative was like the merry warbling of birds, and was from
beginning to end the story of a serene dream of spring. She was the
only child of her parents, who in spite of outward indifference and
apparent coldness adored her, and had never denied her anything. The
first fifteen years of her life were spent in her charming nest, in
the beautiful house in the Lennestrasse, where she was born. "When
we return to Berlin you shall see how pleasant my home is. I will
show you my little blue sitting-room, my winter garden, my aviary,
my parrots and blackbirds." A heavy trial had befallen her--the only
trial that she had yet experienced.
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