He looked up at the clear blue sky in amazement. “I do not see a single cloud.”
“So much the better, Frederick!” rejoined Charlotte, quickly, “so much the better! Nothing will therefore prevent our taking the contemplated drive to Rudolstadt.”
Her large eyes fastened a quick, penetrating glance on his countenance while uttering these words, and she saw that he colored slightly, and avoided encountering her gaze.
“We will carry out our intention of driving to Rudolstadt to-morrow, will we not, my friend? I have been promising to pay Madame von Lengefeld a visit for a long time, and it will afford me great pleasure to see her two daughters again. Caroline von Beulwitz is a noble young woman, and bears the cruel fate entailed upon her by her unfortunate marriage with true heroism. At the side of this matured summer-rose stands her sister Charlotte, like a fair young blossom of the spring-time.”
Schiller, his countenance radiant with pure joy, gave Charlotte a tender, grateful look; and this look pierced her heart, and kindled the consuming flames of jealousy. Poor Charlotte! The wind had dashed a withered autumn-leaf against her face, and but now she had called the woman who was henceforth to be her rival “a fair young blossom of the spring-time.”
“How beautifully you paint with a few strokes of the brush, Charlotte!” said Schiller, gayly. “Your portrait is an excellent one, and portrays Madame von Lengefeld’s daughters as they really are. Caroline, as the full-blown rose, and Charlotte as a lovely, fragrant violet.”
“And which of these flowers do you most admire?”
“It is hard to choose between them,” replied Schiller, laughing. “It is best to admire them together; I can scarcely conceive of their being separated; separation would destroy the harmony of the picture!”
Charlotte felt relieved. Then he loved neither. His heart had not chosen between them.