His first words were, "Where have you left Dodi?"
"Out in the garden."
"What has he on?"
"His white frock and blue ribbons."
"That suits him so well. Is he well wrapped up?"
"Oh, yes, very well" (with three feet of earth).
"Bring him in when you go out again."
At this Noémi could not stop in the room; she went out and threw herself on Therese's breast, but even then she could not shed a tear. She must not. Then she tottered on into the garden, went to the willow, broke off a bud from the rose-tree, and went back to Michael.
"Well, where's Dodi?" he said, impatiently.
But Noémi knelt down by his bed and held out to him—the white rose. Michael took it and smelled it. "How curious!" he said; "this flower has no scent—as if it had grown on a grave."