His condition was therefore a sad one; but he cherished the hope that the lovely Clara would not only make a good wife, but also put an end to all his pecuniary embarrassments. So he neglected nothing that he thought might please her.
Every one knows that homage when offered in the shape of flowers is, as a rule, well pleasing to ladies. But, unhappily, the world is at present so prosaically constituted, that even the perfumed children of Flora are not to be had except for money,—and this point constituted, as we have already seen, the Achilles sinew of our enamoured here.
Day and night his thoughts were occupied with this difficulty, and, when it did not keep him awake, his sleep was filled with uncomfortable dreams.
After one of these weary nights, another bright morning had dawned,—the larks were singing, the roses were in bloom, and Alfred was busy cleaning his pipe.
In the midst of this poetic occupation, he was suddenly inspired with a practical idea. He sketched out a plan which would have done no discredit to the most finished diplomatist, and executed it with an energy worthy of a worse cause.
He had been accustomed to sell his cast-off garments to a humble citizen of much experience in retail trading; and, considering the man’s astuteness and eloquence, he had often been seized by a suspicion that he (Alfred) had not got the best of the bargain.
This must be put an end to. He broke off his commercial relations with the experienced dealer, and concluded a treaty with a nursery-gardener’s boy, to whom he presented his worn-out clothes; in return for which the boy engaged to gather him a bouquet, from time to time, late in the evening, and bring it to him with the necessary discretion.
This plan answered well enough for a time. The boy brought the flowers, and received in return, gifts of equal value,—a hat, adorned with dints like a Homeric shield; a waistcoat, wofully stained down the front; and a coat, whose collar shone like a meteor; and furthermore, a pair of shoes, on which the cobbler’s art could no further go.
On the morning of a bright summer day, the gardener’s boy, being unable to come in person, sent up by another hand a magnificent bouquet of roses, which Alfred, without loss of time, despatched to his adored Clara.
Full of joyous hope, and sure of a friendly welcome, he sped the same evening to the house of his chosen one, but found, to his great disappointment, that he was received with decided coolness.