As they were only samples, they stayed on the counter a long time. And, at last, they fell in love with each other. But neither told the other, as should have been done, if anything was to come of it.
“He is a man and must speak first,” thought she. But she was happy, for she knew he loved her.
His thoughts were far more extravagant; that is the way with men. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, and that he had four pennies of his own, and that he bought the sweet maiden and ate her up.
So they lay on the counter for weeks and weeks, and grew dry and hard.
But the thoughts of the maiden became ever more gentle and maidenly. “It is enough for me that I have lived on the same table with him,” she said, and—crack! she broke in two.
“If she had only known of my love,” thought he, “she would have kept together a little longer.”
“And that is their story, and here they are, both of them,” said the baker, for it was he who was telling the story. “They are remarkable for their curious history, and for their silent love, which never came to anything. There they are for you.” So saying, he gave the man, who was yet whole, to Joanna, and the broken maiden to Knud.
But the children were so impressed with the story that they could only look at them, they could not eat them up just yet.
—Hans Christian Andersen