“If you will not look upon them for my sake,” said the prince, earnestly, “I pray you, give them one glance for the flowers’ sake. You will at least feel assured that no other shepherdess is adorned with such a bouquet.”
“Yes,” said Wilhelmina, “these are not white roses; indeed, they seem to be artificial flowers; their leaves are hard and thick like alabaster, and dazzlingly white like snow. What flowers are these, my prince?”
“They are camelias. I recently heard you speak of these rare flowers, which had just been imported to Europe. I hoped to please you by placing them in your hands.”
“Certainly; but I did not know that these new exotics were blooming in our land.”
“And they are not,” said Prince Henry. “This bouquet comes from Schwetzingen; there, only, in Germany, in the celebrated green-houses of the Margravine of Baden can they be seen.”
“How, then, did you get them?” said the princess, astonished.
“I sent a courier to Schwetzingen; the blossoms were wrapped in moist, green moss, and are so well preserved, that they look as fresh as when they were gathered six days since.”
“And you sent for them for me?” said Wilhelmina.
“Did you not express a wish to see them?” replied the prince; and his glance rested upon her with such ardent passion that, blushing, she cast her eyes to the ground, and stood still and ashamed before him.
“And you have not one little word of thanks?” said the prince, after a long pause. “Will you not fasten these pure flowers on your bosom, and allow them to die a happy death there? Alas! you are hard and cruel with me, princess; it seems to me that your husband dare claim from you more of kindliness and friendship.”