the view of the nobleman, gave him the kiss he craved. He went abroad, and, returning at last as Adjutant-General Løvenørn, paid the fair lady a visit. She was none other than Ingeborg Vinding.
This is the anecdote, equally characteristic of both parties, that Carl Ploug has so prettily treated in his poem Et Kys (A Kiss).
The professor's daughter is sitting alone in the sitting-room, and "humming a song she has learnt by heart." Then some one knocks at the door, and in steps young Poul with his audacious request; first she will refuse him indignantly:
Ere yet a word she uttered
She raised her eyes again.
Their angry flash should wither
That overbold young swain.
But, ah, he stood so quiet,
With such a modest grace,
With features stamped with honour,
And such a noble face.
Once more the maiden's glances
Looked down, their anger dead,
And with a blush delicious
She spoke him fair instead.
