"I will now conclude you," said the mist. And then she spread herself round the night-violet, so that her petals were dashed with wet.
"Oh, oh!" cried the night-violet. "Keep your fingers to yourself, my friend. I have a feeling as if I had been dipped in the pond. You have no reason for getting so angry just because I asked you who you are."
The mist let go of her again.
"Who am I?" she said. "You could not understand even if I told you."
"Try," said the night-violet.
"I am the dewdrop on the flower, the cloud in the sky, and the mist on the meadow," said the mist.
"I beg your pardon," said the night-violet. "Would you mind saying that again? The dewdrop I know. It settles every morning on my leaves, and I don't think it is at all like you."
