Noémi laid her little head on the soft hill of rose leaves, and said, "It would be delicious to sleep on such a bed of roses."
"Foolish child," Therese chided her. "You would never awake from that slumber; the odor would kill you."
"That would be a lovely death!"
"Then you want to die?" Frau Therese said, reproachfully; "you want to leave me here alone, you naughty child?"
"No, no!" cried Noémi, embracing her mother with eager kisses. "I leave you, my dear, darling, only little mother!"
"Why do you make such silly jests then? Don't you think, Herr Timar, it is not right for a young girl to allow herself these jokes with her mother—for a little girl who was playing with a doll only yesterday?" Michael quite agreed with Frau Therese that it was inexcusable under any pretense for a young lady to tell her mother that she thought any kind of death would be delightful. "Now just stop here and see that the essence does not boil, while I go to the kitchen to get a good dinner ready for our guest. You'll stay all day, of course?"
"I will stay to-day and to-morrow too, if you will give me something to do for you. As long as you find me work I will remain."
"Oh, then, you can stop the whole week," Noémi interrupted, "for I can find you plenty to do."
"What work would you give Herr Timar, you little simpleton?" laughed the mother.
"Why, of course, to crush the rose leaves!"