"See," said he, offering her a flower, "here's a pretty little thing I gathered on the mountain."
"Ah, don't touch it!" cried Theresa, shrinking from it in dismay. "It's the thunder-rose!"
"Thunder-rose!—what's that?"
"Whoever gathers it will be unlucky—whoever accepts it will be unlucky. Please, throw it away."
"Certainly, I will," said Eisenstecken, looking discomfited, and flinging it as far from him as he could. "I hope it will not be verified in my case."
"I hope not. Let us think of something else."
He gladly changed the subject, and talked of what was doing in Innsbruck; feeling the moment an unpropitious one for saying what was hovering on his lips.
Anna Hofer welcomed him kindly. There was another person present—a young, wounded soldier, sitting at the door, whom Giuseppe would fain have not seen there. It was Rudolf.
Nothing that the house afforded was too good for the adjutant who brought glad tidings of the Sandwirth. Trout, roast chicken, pastry, were heaped upon his plate,—the best bed prepared for him, the best pillow-case and coverlet placed upon it,—all very hospitable and satisfactory; only—only there was that handsome young soldier, with his arm in a sling, receiving quieter but quite as flattering attentions as himself, and exchanging many a soft tone and softer glance with the smiling Theresa; all of which combined to make poor Giuseppe fume with jealousy, and kept him awake half the night. A few hours' dreamless sleep, however, restored him; he sprang up, full of ardour and self-confidence, and followed Theresa to the fountain. There he told her—what he had better not have told to any one—for she was sorry, but steadfast, and confessed to him her heart belonged to somebody else, and could not be reclaimed.
The young man felt it very bitterly; he would not break bread in the house again, nor cross the threshold. He trudged back over the mountain, and when he saw a thunder-rose, he stamped upon it, saying, "Ah, you wretch! it was owing to you."