[She continues pulling the petals, and murmuring to herself.
Faust.
What are you murmuring now, so sweetly low?
Margaret. [half loud]
He loves me, yes!—he loves me, no!
Faust.
Thou sweet angelic face!
Margaret. [murmuring as before]
He loves me, yes!—he loves me, no!
[Pulling out the last petal with manifest delight.]