What compass, what power, what melting sweetness the childish voice against whose shrillness his foster-father and he himself had zealously struggled now possessed! Neither songstress nor member of the boy choir whom he had heard in Italy or the Netherlands could boast of such bell-like purity of tone! He was a connoisseur, and yet it seemed as though every tone which he heard had received the most thorough cultivation.
Who in Ratisbon could have been her teacher?
To whom did she owe this masterly training?
As if by a miracle, he knew not whether from looking or listening, he found a combination of notes which he had long been seeking for the motet on which he was working.

When he had registered it, and she sang a few passages from it, what an exquisite delight awaited him! But what should he do now?
Ought he to surprise her in this way?
It would certainly have been proper to be first announced by her father; but he could not bring himself even to stir a foot.

Beads of perspiration stood upon his brow.

Panting for breath, he seized his handkerchief to wipe it, and in doing so the roll of velvet which he had held under his arm fell on the floor.
Wolf stooped, and, ere he had straightened himself again, he heard Barbara call in a questioning tone, "Father ?" and saw her put down the iron and stand listening.
Then, willing or not, he was obliged to announce his presence, and, with a timid "It is I, Wolf," he approached the little bow-windowed room and hesitatingly crossed the threshold.
"Wolf, my tame Wolf," she repeated gaily, without being in the least concerned about the condition of her dress.

"I knew that we should soon meet again, for, just think of it! I dreamed of you last night.