He flew against the window-panes, was seen, was run through by a pin and placed in a curiosity-box; one could not do more for him.
"Now I also am seated on a stalk like a flower," said the butterfly, "it is not so comfortable after all! But it is as well as being married, for then one is tied down!" He consoled himself with this.
"What a wretched consolation!" said the flower, that grew in the pot in the room.
"One can not entirely trust to flowers that grow in pots," thought the butterfly, "they have too much intercourse with men."