HERBORIST. You are silent and you don't smile—is it with joy?
HADDA PADDA. You must not ask me that.
HERBORIST. Smile, and I will grant the dandelion its life.
HADDA PADDA. Now I am smiling.
HERBORIST [thrusts her hand into the bag]. Tell me of your joy, young woman. Each time you give an answer you grant a flower its life.—
Of all things,—what is the softest you have ever felt?
HADDA PADDA. The hair on my cheek when my lover stroked it.
HERBORIST [taking a plant from the bag]. Now you have granted the yarrow its life.—Tell me of your joy, young woman. What made your hand so pretty?
HADDA PADDA. Happiness made my hand so pretty. It has smoothed back the hair from the most beautiful forehead.
HERBORIST [taking out another plant]. Now you have granted the catch-fly its life.—What cast the shade of sorrow in your eyes?