And Hoffman looked wrathfully at the image, as if he would much enjoy sending it down the trap.
“How ridiculous! I shall not go about this place alone, for fear of lighting upon some horror of this sort. I’ve had enough; come away into the garden; it’s full of roses, and we may have as many as we like.”
As she spoke Amy involuntarily put out her hand for Casimer to lead her down the steep stone steps, and he pressed the little hand with a tender look which caused it to be hastily withdrawn.
“Here are your roses. Pretty flower; I know its meaning in English, for it is the same with us. To give a bud to a lady is to confess the beginning of love, a half open one tells of its growth, and a full-blown one is to declare one’s passion. Do you have that custom in your land, mademoiselle?”
He had gathered the three as he spoke, and held the bud separately while looking at his companion wistfully.
“No, we are not poetical, like your people, but it is a pretty fancy,” and Amy settled her bouquet with an absorbed expression, though inwardly wondering what he would do with his flowers.
He stood silent a moment, with a sudden flush sweeping across his face, then flung all three into the lake with a gesture that made the girl start, and muttered between his teeth.
“No, no: for me it is too late.”
She affected not to hear, but making up a second bouquet, she gave it to him, with no touch of coquetry in compassionate eyes or gentle voice.
“Make your room bright with these. When one is ill nothing is so cheering as the sight of flowers.”