only your ladyship were acquainted with them!"

Fanny looked at him inquiringly.

"Yes, if only your ladyship knew the flowers, not merely by name, but
through the medium of that world of fancy which is bound up with the
life of the flowers! Every flower has its own life, desires,
inclinations, grief and sorrows, love and anguish, just as much as we
have. The imaginations of our poets give to each of them its own
characteristics, and associates little fables with them, some of which
are very pretty. Indeed, you will find much that is interesting in the
ideal lives of the flowers."

Here Rudolf broke off an iris from a side-bed.

"Look, here is a happy family, three husbands and three wives, each
husband close beside his wife. They bloom together, they wither
together; not one of them is inconstant. This is the bliss of flowers.
These are all happy lovers."

Then Rudolf threw away the iris, and plucked an amaranth.

"Now, here we have the aristocrats. In the higher compartment is the
husband, in the lower the wife--upper-class married life. Nevertheless,
the ashen-purple colour of the flower shows that its life is happy."

Here Rudolf rubbed the amaranth between his fingers, and innumerable
little dark seeds fell into the palm of his hand.

"As black as pearls, you see," said Rudolf.

"Yes, as pearls," lisped Fanny, thinking it quite natural that they
should pour out of the youth's hand into her own, for it was a shame to
lose them. There was not a pure pearl in the Indies that she would have
exchanged for these little seeds. And now Rudolf threw the amaranth away
too.

Fanny glanced in the direction of the rejected flower, as if to make
sure of the place where it had fallen.

"And now will your ladyship look at those two maples standing side by
side? What handsome trees they are! One of them seems to be of a
brighter green than the other: that, therefore, is the wife; the darker
one is the husband. They also are happy lovers. But now look over
yonder! There stands a majestic maple tree all by itself. How yellow its
foliage is! Poor thing! it has not found a husband. Some pitiless
gardener has planted it beside a nut tree, and that is no mate for it.
How pale, how yellow it looks, poor thing! But, good Heavens! how pale
you are! What is the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing, sir," said Fanny, "only a little giddiness," and
without the slightest hesitation she leant on Rudolf's arm.

He fancied he understood, bu