"How intense everything is here in nature!" she said. "What a flame in that blue! And even the dandelions are orange instead of yellow. And the green of the meadows, the green brook, the black shadow of the pines, and then that sky—what a day!" She sprang up. "On, on!" she cried. "I wish I could climb up there on those peaks, up into the clouds!"
"I'm afraid you'll find Barmaz high enough," said Crayven. "It's rather a pull, this last bit. Sure you're not too tired?"
"I'm not tired at all. And I want my lunch. Do I look tired?"
She did not, now. Her face was eager and full of life. They walked on rapidly. The road shot steeply up, then doubled and redoubled and doubled again on itself along the pine-clad rock. They met a dull-faced peasant coming down, leading a huge cow.
"Here, as Heine said of Göttingen, the cows are the most intelligent part of the population!" Teresa gasped, as they stood aside to let the animals pass. Then, getting her breath, she repeated a verse that always sang in her memory:
"'Mir träumte einst von wildern Liebesglühn
Von hübschen Locken, Myrten und Resede,
Von süssen Lippen und von bittrer Rede,
Von düstrer Lieder, düstern Melodien …'
"What melody! What a poet! How, he
