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Hugh set his teeth. The ice broke in a great piece and tilted heavily against him. It was over one shoulder. "Call," said the other self, sharply, again, "or you will be under the ice." And up to the quiet heaven rose once and again a hoarse, wild cry of human agony and despair. Ueber allen Gipfeln Ist Ruh; In allen Wipfeln Spürest Du Kaum einen Hauch; Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde.
'Die vogelein schweigen im Walde, he said. The answer came from a clear, authoritative voice. 'Warte nur, balde ruhest du auch. Clearly some kind of password, for sane men don't talk about little birds in that kind of situation. It sounded to me like indifferent poetry. Then followed a conversation in low tones, of which I only caught odd phrases.
and compare with its flute-like and treble quality the breadth, depth, and volume of the German in this inimitable stanza of Goethe's: Ueber alien Gipfeln Ist Ruh, In allen Wipfeln Spürest du Kaum einen Hauch; Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde. Warte nur, balde Ruhest du auch.
'Die Vogelein schwei igem im Walde, I said. His face broke into a pleasant smile, and he replied: 'Warte nur, balde rubest du auch. 'Ach, he said in German, holding out his hand, 'you have come this way, when we thought you would go by Modane. I welcome you, for I know your exploits. You are Conradi, who did so nobly in Italy? I bowed. 'Yes, I am Conradi, I said. The Col of the Swallows
He drew the poor half-witted thing close to him and asked: "Can Vögelein tell me something about mamma, and how she went to sleep?" The child rambled on, pleased to find a listener to her foolish prattle.
And the wizened little face, with its eldritch eyes and tangled hair, was withdrawn, and the door began to close. Ronald forced himself inside, and grasped the child's arm. "Vögelein, don't you know me?"
The old philosopher's thin face lit up with pleasure. "You consent, then?" he chuckled in his womanish treble. "Of course I do. Begin at once, and have done with it." "Not now, mein Herr; some modifications must be made in the connections mere matters of detail. Come again to-night." "At what hour?" "At ten. Mein Vögelein, show the Herr the way out."
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