"Not all suffer, only the faithful; and to suffer is not to sorrow, and of all joy the blossom-sorrow prepares the fruit."
"And how old are you whose blossom-sorrow I certainly cannot find in any form upon your maiden presence?"
"You smile, and seem to say, 'Thou hast not yet lived the right to speak,—purchased by experience the freedom of speech.' I am both young and old. I believe I am younger than any just here, and I know more than they all do."
"Was it pride," thought I, "that curled beneath those tones so flowery soft?" for there was a lurking bitterness I had not found in him.
"Not younger than this one;" he took my hand and spread it across his knee. "These fingers are to weave the azure ribbon next."
"He is coming, I know, but is not come; his name is upon the books. I hope he will not be an out-Cecilian, because I should like to know him, and we cannot know very well those who do not reside within the walls."
"He is one of my very friendly ones. Will you also be very friendly with him?"
"I always will. Be friendly now!" and she smiled upon me an instant, very soon letting fall her eyes, in which I then detected a Spanish droop of the lids, though, when raised, her glance dispelled the notion, for the brightness there shone all unshorn by the inordinate length of the lashes, and I never saw eyes so light, with lashes so defined and dark.
"So, sir, this azure ribbon which you admire is also to be woven for him?" she continued, as if to prolong the conversation.
"Not if symbols are to be the order of the day, for, Carlomein, your color is not blue."