"Well, give me yours, and here is a match to it, which is easily stuck in!"
"No," said the lad. "I want that rose which you gave to the cowherd, and I will never rest till I have it in my hands."
At that the girl clasped her hands imploringly.
"Sándor! Sándor! Don't talk like that. You two must not fight about me—about a yellow rose!"
"It must be. Either he kills me, or I him, but one of us must fall."
"And that is what you call telling the truth!" cried the girl. "You who have just promised not to be angry with me any more?"
"With you, yes. A girl can't help forgetting, but a man should bear in mind."
"God knows, I never forgot you."
"Perhaps not; like in the song:—
"'Whome'er within my arms I pressed,
Yet in my heart I loved thee best.'