"Because it occurred to me that you have the right to command here."
"I am glad,—it is well that you think thus,—for I should like just at this moment to exercise this obvious right of mine: tread upon that rose which lies languishing there at your feet."
"That I shall not do,—it has done no wrong." She picked up the rose, a beautiful half-open centifolia, and laid it upon the window-sill. Herr von Walde took the flower, and without more ado tossed it away over the lawn.
"There let it die a poetic death," he said with a sneer, "let the grasses bend above it, and the evening dews shed sympathetic tears over the poor victim."
The rigid expression had passed away from his features, but there was still the same inquisitorial look in his eyes, and his voice was not much gentler, as he asked:
"What were you reading when it was my misfortune to interrupt you?"
"Goethe's 'Wahrheit und Dichtung.'"
"Do you know the book?"
"Only selections from it."
"Well, how do you like the touching story of Gretchen?"