Unorna herself was silent still.
"The nightingale was singing on that night," continued Kafka.

"It was a dewy night in early spring, and the air was very soft, when Unorna first breathed it.

The world was not asleep but dreaming, when her eyes first opened to look upon it.

Heaven had put on all its glories--across its silent breast was bound the milk-white ribband, its crest was crowned with God's crown-jewels, the great northern stars, its mighty form was robed in the mantle of majesty set with the diamonds of suns and worlds, great and small, far and near--not one tiny spark of all the myriad million gems was darkened by a breath of wind-blown mist.

The earth was very still, all wrapped in peace and lulled in love.