A few minutes later the call was
repeated, this time nearer, and so distinctly that it could be
understood. The night watchman, with mournful emphasis, sung:
"Twelve strokes Time's limit do teach thee,
Man, think of thy mortality."
"Life in your Germany is like a fairy tale," said Ada, after repeating
the verse to herself; "everything is so dreamy; so pervaded with
poetry."
"Then stay in our Germany, stay with us," he pleaded, softly, his voice
expressing far more than his words.
She shook her little head sorrowfully. "I came five years too late."
"Do not say that," replied Bergmann, pressing the bare arm which rested
on his closely to his side. "How old are you now?"
It did not occur to her to smile at the question or to answer it,
according to the ordinary custom of women, with an affected reply. She
said, instead, as simply as a child:
"Twenty-three."
"And at twenty-three would it be too late to seek and strive for
happiness in life? When sorrow has been experienced so young, it can
surely be regarded as a childish disease and there is nothing to be
done except to forget it as quickly as possible.
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