She had, at other times, frequently expressed to the man her pleasure in the beautiful flowers he had cultivated. It had always given him pain that the illustrious personages of the castle never noticed his rare plants, and he had been so pleased with the warm interest taken by the strange lady that he brought the flowers every morning himself, and pointed out to her the new favorites of the conservatory; he had cut for her the best he had.
"The others do not notice them," he would say; "and she remembers the Latin names too."
He now placed the basket of flowers down with a feeling of mortification.
"There are some new specimens of the calceolaria," he began, reproachfully; "they are of my own raising: you will not see others of this kind."
Ilse felt the disappointment of the gardener. She approached the table, and said:
"They are indeed very beautiful; but flowers, dear sir, require a light heart, and that I have not now. I have ill repaid your kindness to-day; but you must not be angry with me."
"If you would only look at the grey-spotted ones," exclaimed the gardener, with the enthusiasm of an artist; "these are my pride, and are not to be had anywhere else in the world."
Ilse admired them.
"I had taken great pains for many years," continued the gardener. "I had done all I could to obtain good seed, but only common ones came; after I had almost lost courage, the new kinds blossomed all in one year. It was not my art," he added, honestly: "it is a secret of nature; she has given me good fortune, and relieved me from my cares all at once."
"But you took pains and did your best," answered Ilse; "when one does thus, one may trust to the good spirit of life."