She took his hand, and gazed into his eyes with a most singular expression, half curious, half questioning.
Fritz Wendel trembled with delight at her touch, but withdrew his hand almost with violence.
"I weep because I am a miserable gardener," he murmured; "I weep because I am not great and noble, like the gentlemen at court."
"Yesterday Baron von Kaiserling gave an account of an Austrian general, who was the son of a peasant, and had been a cowherd. Now he is a general, and is married to the daughter of a count."
The countenance of Fritz Wendel beamed with energy and courage.
"Oh! why is there not a war?" he cried, enthusiastically. "I could not fail to become a general, for I should fight like a lion."
"You would like to become a general, in order to marry the daughter of a count?"
"Not the daughter of a count, but—"
"Fritz Wendel! Fritz Wendel!" called a voice in the distance.
"It is the head gardener," said poor Fritz, sadly. "Farewell, farewell; be kind and gracious, and come again to-morrow to the garden."