"Yes, dear child."
"You know, father, I want to be a Queen."
Verotchka sleeps. She smiles as she sleeps.
There are so many flowers. All of them are smiling. They surround Verotchka's little bed; they whisper and laugh in their thin little voices.
There are crimson flowers, blue flowers, yellow flowers, azure, pink, scarlet, white, as if a rainbow, falling, struck the earth and scattered its living sparks into many-colored lights.
"Verotchka wants to be a Queen," gaily proclaimed the Field Bluebells, swaying on their thin, green stems.
"Oh, how comical she is!" whispered the modest Forget-me-nots.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this affair needs serious discussion," said the yellow Dandelion pertly.
"What does it mean to be a Queen?" asked the blue Cornflower. "I grew up in a field and I cannot understand your city ways."