"How beautiful you are, and yet how sad!"
The lady tried to smile.
"This smile even is melancholy," said Banfy, gently, and put his arm around his fairy wife.
Madame Banfy drew close to her husband, put her arms around his neck, drew his face down to hers and kissed it.
"This very kiss is sorrowful!"
She turned away to hide her tears.
"What is the matter with you?" Banfy asked, and smoothed her brow. "What has happened to you? why are you so pale? what is the matter?"
"What is the matter with me?" replied Madame Banfy, raising her eyes full of tears and sighing deeply; then she dried her eyes, put her arm in her husband's and led him to her flowers as if to turn the conversation. "Just see this poor passionflower, how faded it is; yet it is planted in a porcelain vase and I water it daily with distilled water. Once I forgot to raise the curtains, and just see how the poor thing is faded. It lacks nothing except sunlight."
"Ah," whispered Banfy in subdued voice. "It seems we speak with each other in the language of the flowers."
"What is the matter with me?" said Madame Banfy with a sob, as she clung to her husband's neck;—"my sunlight is wanting—your love!"