"Only Gabriel; at least I never heard of any other."
"Then I do not want to be an angel. I had rather be what I am. Besides, angels do not have tempers; they do not long for things they should not have; they have no sweethearts." She caught him roughly by the arms. "Ah, if anything should happen to you, I should die! It seems as though I had a hundred hearts and that they had all melted into one for love of you. Do men love as women love? Is it everything and all things, or only an incident? I would give up my soul to you if you asked for it."
"I ask only for your love, Gretchen; only that." And he pressed her hands. "All men are rogues, more or less. There are so many currents and eddies entering into a man's life. It is made up of a thousand variant interests. No, man's love is never like a woman's. But remember this, Gretchen, I loved you the best I knew how, as a man loves but once, honorably as it was possible, purely and dearly."
The shade of trouble crossed her face. "Why are you always talking like that? Do I not know that you love me? Have I not my dowry, and are we not to be married after the vintage?"
"But your singing?"
"Singing? Why, my voice belongs to you; for your sake I wish to be great, for no other reason."
He ripped a bunch of grapes from the vine, a thing no careful vintner should do, and held it toward her.
"Have you ever heard of the kissing cherries?" he asked.
She shook her head. He explained.
"This bunch will do very well."