‘Far away,’ continued the statue, ‘far away in a little street there is a poor house. In a bed in the corner of the room a little boy is lying ill.’
‘Be happy,’ cried the Nightingale, ‘be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover.’