“Our way lay over wheat-fields, forests, towns, villages, and the sad plain of Champagne. Not far from Metz, attracted by a sweet smell, he exclaimed, ‘The gardens watered by these clear springs must indeed be beautiful!’ Here he winged his way to a single Rose, growing on the banks of the Moselle.
“ ‘Beautiful Rose,’ he murmured, ‘never has the sun shone on a flower more lovely. I have travelled far, suffer me to rest on one of your leaves.’
“ ‘Stay!’ replied the Rose, ‘presumptuous flatterer, do not approach me!’
“Nothing daunted he touched a branch and retreated, exclaiming, ‘You have pricked me!’ and he showed his wounded wing. ‘I no longer love wild roses, they are cruel, devoid of heart. Let us fly, to be happy is to be unfaithful!’
“Not far from the Rose he saw a Lily whose form charmed him. While its stateliness, purity, and cold, aristocratic bearing, filled him with mingled fear and admiration.
“ ‘I do not dare to love you,’ he said in his most respectful voice, ‘for I am nothing more than a Butterfly, and I fear even to disturb the air you have glorified by your presence.’
“ ‘Be spotless, pure, and unchangeable,’ replied the Lily, ‘and I will befriend you.’
“ ‘Never change! In this world few Butterflies are sincere.’ He really could not promise. A puff of wind carried him away to the silvery banks of the Rhine. I soon joined him.
“ ‘Follow me,’ he was addressing a Daisy, ‘follow me, and I will love you for your simplicity. Let us cross the Rhine and go to Baden. You will enjoy brilliant concerts, routs, dances, gay palaces, and the great mountains you can descry on the distant horizon. Leave these tame banks and shine as the queen of flowers in the smiling country yonder.’