Fritz Wendel at length dared to raise his eyes, and glance timidly at the smiling face of the young girl who stood near him.
"They are also intended for a princess," he said, in a low voice—"for my princess."
"Oh! then you have a special princess for whom you gather flowers?"
"Yes, I have my princess, whom I serve, and for whom I would willingly sacrifice my life," cried the impetuous young man, with all the energy of his passionate and untamed nature.
Mademoiselle von Schwerin played carelessly with the branch of the lilac which she held in her hand. She plucked off the small blossoms, and throwing them in the air, blew them about, as she danced here and there on tiptoe.
"I would like to know how it is that I find a magnificent bouquet in my room every morning, and who it is that dares to gather more beautiful flowers for me than any to be found in the vases of the princess royal?"
"It must be some one who adores you," said the young gardener, with his eyes on the ground, and blushing deeply at his own temerity.
"Then it is a nobleman, perhaps one of the court gentlemen," she said, casting a teasing glance on her embarrassed lover. "Who else would dare to adore me, or to send me flowers?"
"Yes, you are right, who would dare?" murmured Fritz Wendel; "perhaps some poor, deluded mortal, led by a wild insanity to forget his humble condition, and consider himself your equal. There have been maniacs who imagined themselves great among earth's greatest men, and equal even to the very God in heaven."
"How pale you are!" cried Louise, looking at the young man with undissembled tenderness. "Why do you weep, Fritz?"