Then the thought occurred to him, that he could speak to the fair one by means of a picture.

A small panel was soon found, he had plenty of brushes and colors to choose from, and in a few minutes, a burning heart, transfixed by an arrow, was completed.  But the thing looked horribly red and ugly, so he rejected it, and painted—­imitating one of Titian’s angels, which specially pleased him—­a tiny Cupid, holding a heart in his hand.

He had learned many things from the master, and as the little figure rounded into shape, it afforded him so much pleasure, that he could not leave it, and finished it the third day.

It had not entered his mind to create a completed work of art, but the impetuosity of youth, revelling in good fortune, had guided his brush.  The little Cupid bent joyously forward, drawing the right leg back, as if making a bow.  Finally Ulrich draped about him a black and yellow scarf, such as he had often seen the young Austrian archduke wear, and besides the pierced heart, placed a rose in the tiny, ill-drawn hand.

He could not help laughing at his “masterpiece” and hurried out on the balcony with the wet painting, to show it to Carmen.  She laughed heartily too, answered his salutations with tender greetings, then laid aside her embroidery and went back into the room, but only to immediately reappear at the window again, holding up a prayer-book and extending towards him the eight fingers of her industrious little hands.

He motioned that he understood her, and at eight o’clock the next morning was kneeling by her side at mass, where he took advantage of a favorable opportunity to whisper:  “Beautiful Carmen!”

The young girl blushed, but he vainly awaited an answer.  Carmen now rose, and when Ulrich also stood up to permit her to pass, she dropped her prayer-book, as if by accident.  He stooped with her to pick it up, and when their heads nearly touched, she whispered hurriedly:  “Nine o’clock this evening in the shell grotto; the garden will be open.”

Carmen awaited him at the appointed place.

At first Ulrich’s heart throbbed so loudly and passionately, that he could find no words; but the young girl helped him, by telling him that he was a handsome fellow, whom it would be easy to love.

Then he remembered the vows of tenderness he had translated at Kochel’s, falteringly repeated them, and fell on one knee before her, like all the heroes in adventures and romances.

And behold!  Carmen did exactly the same as the young ladies whose acquaintance he had made at his teacher’s, begged him to rise, and when he willingly obeyed the command—­for he wore thin silk stockings and the grotto was paved with sharp stones—­drew him to her heart, and tenderly stroked his hair back from his face with her dainty fingers, while he gladly permitted her to press her soft young lips to his.

All this was delightful, and he had no occasion to speak at all; yet Ulrich felt timid and nervous.  It seemed like a deliverance when the footsteps of the guard were heard, and Carmen drew him away through the gate with her into the court-yard.