“She rose from the table at this, and went to the window to look down wistfully upon the crowded street below. It was hard to think that success meant so little to one who had climbed so steep a road and whose feet had been so often cut by the way. Before, however, I could say anything to comfort her, the door of the room opened, and the servant announced a visitor.
“‘Lieutenant Gerold,’ she said.
“I stood up to make my bow, and found myself in the presence of a boy who wore the uniform of a hussar regiment—a mere stripling, who carried a great basket of flowers upon his arm, and had a shamefaced smile which spoke of his confusion.
“‘Christine——’ he said, coming forward, but stopping abruptly when he saw me.
“She turned to meet him with a face lit up by the gladness of her welcome.
“‘Zol,’ she cried, ‘I told you to bring me no more flowers.’
“‘But,’ said he—and it was a boy’s excuse—‘they were very cheap.’
“‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘that is what you always say. Don’t mind old Andrea here. You have heard me speak of him often. I used to sit upon his knee once.’
“‘Lucky old rascal!’ replied the lad, playfully.
“‘But that was long ago,’ she added immediately; and then she held out her hands to the lad for his flowers. I saw that he pinned one to her breast with trembling fingers.