But the flute was silent; the sun had therefore not arisen, although its beams had long been flooding the park in golden light, and drinking from every flower the dew that had fallen during the past sultry night.
Fritz Wendel, the gardener, was already busy with his watering-pot, and was at the same time anxiously selecting and gathering the most beautiful flowers, and concealing them carefully under the various plants and bushes; perhaps to protect them from the heat of the sun, perhaps to secure them from the curious eyes of some observer. Such eyes were already observing him, and resting upon him with an expression so tender and smiling, that you could see that the young girl to whom they belonged had a special interest in the tall, handsome gardener, who, in his modest, simple dress, and his great and imposing beauty, appeared to realize the truth of the old fables, of the gods who visited the earth in disguise. He might have been Apollo charmed by some Daphne, and taking this rude dress to approach the shepherdess he loved. Perhaps this charming young girl thought thus, and on that account looked at him so smilingly from behind the lilacs, or perhaps she believed him to be a prince, and waited anxiously for the moment when he would throw off his disguise and declare himself her equal. For she was, although not a princess, maid of honor to one, and of noble birth.
But youth is indifferent to such things as a genealogical tree, or a coat-of-arms, and what cared this child of thirteen summers whether Fritz Wendel was the son of a prince or a peasant? He pleased her because he was young and handsome, and he had one other great charm, he was her first lover. Every one else called Mademoiselle von Sehwerin a child, and jested with little Louise. The princess royal had begged her from her mother, as a sort, of plaything with which to amuse her lonely hours, and the title "maid of honor" was only a jest, which served merely to secure the entrance of the young lady to her royal mistress at any time.
But Louise was only a child in years; she possessed already the heart, the feelings, and the desires of a woman; nothing, therefore, hurt her pride so much as being called a child, and she was never happier than when her beauty and talent caused her youth to be forgotten.
Fritz Wendel, the young gardener, knew nothing of her age. For him she was Mademoiselle von Schwerin, a young lady, the goddess at whose shrine he worshipped, the fairy under whose glance his flowers bloomed, and his heart beat high. For her alone he tended the flowers and the fruits; for her alone had God created the earth; was she not its queen, and was it not natural that Fritz Wendel lay at her feet, and called her the star of his existence?
The young lady having watched her silent, dreaming "first lover" long enough, and tired of this unnatural silence, walked forward from her place of concealment, and bade Fritz Wendel good-morning, just as he was gathering a beautiful narcissus.
Poor Fritz trembled, and a deep blush overspread his face; he was so embarrassed that he forgot to return the young girl's greeting, and only bent still lower over the flower which he held in his hand.
"For whom are your flowers intended?" said Louise, "and why have you hidden the most beautiful ones? Will you not place them in the bouquet which you arrange every morning for the princess?"
"I have never been ordered to gather the most beautiful flowers for the princess," said Fritz Wendel, who had not yet dared to glance at the young lady. "The prince royal commanded me to place fresh flowers in the vases every morning; that is all."
"But it seems to me that is not all," said Louise, laughing, "for you are gathering other flowers; for whom are they intended, if not for the princess royal?"