"'Magde,' said he, 'never desert Carl. He is an honest and faithful soul, who can find no joy unless with you; but Carl is not the one who would seek to injure me by word or thought, and therefore I shall not interfere with his sentiments, but allow him to entertain them freely, and,' he added, 'you may tell him this at some future time when he may feel troubled on my account.'"
"Did he speak thus, assuredly?"
"He did, I swear it by my hopes of meeting him again."
"And you have obeyed him, and not deserted me; but will you do so as long as I am with you here?"
"Never shall I desert you, Carl."
"And when the last moment approaches," said he in a soft tone, "you will moisten my lips, you will smooth my pillow, and when the struggle of death comes upon me, I wish you to hold my hand in yours, as you now do, that I may feel that you are with me. Then you must—will you do so, Magde?—close my eyes with your own hands, and sing a psalm to me."
To all these touching requests, which were rendered still more affecting by the tender expression of his eyes, Magde replied tearfully:
"My dear Carl, your words shall be obeyed."
Carl smiled. He was now happier at the thought of his approaching death, which would bring such proofs of Magde's affection, than one who might have possessed a prospect of a long and luxurious life.
The lilac bushes blossomed, and Magde placed the first flowers in his hands while he yet could inhale their fragrance. The last flowers she strewed upon his grave.