“That wreath, lady, is reckoned beautiful,”—and the companion of Juan Sanchez selected what lie considered the most valuable of the collection. “Would you deign to accept—no, no, I mean, would you oblige me by buying it?”
The fair Camilla gracefully declined the purchase.
“Or that—or this one; any—all.” There never was a more importunate flower-dealer.
“My friend,” replied the lady, gently, “indeed there is nothing here that I require. You mistake me; I am destined for a life that forbids all mortal luxuries. Show these things—and, indeed, some of them are very beautiful—to yonder lady, my father’s—” she paused, the name was not a pleasant one to pronounce—“she will probably buy them. I do not need them; and if I did—but no—down, down, proud heart—” and she turned aside to hide a tear.
“Nay, lady, accept them; and, in return, repay me with your prayers.”
The intended novice waved her hand, and moved a step or two.
“Stay, lady; stay for one moment. I have a flower here, an empress could not purchase; let me, pray let me, show it you.”
“Indeed!” said the fair girl, as she turned round.
“It is too precious to entrust within this casket, and therefore I enshrine it here.”
As he spoke, the stranger took from his bosom a bunch of flowers, and placed them in Camilla’s hand. Instantly a burning blush rose to her very brows. A few rapid sentences fell from the stranger’s lips; a billet was placed softly in no unwilling hand; when the entrance of the admiral disturbed the course ot love and traffic in which the civilian, and his excellent companion, were so busily engaged.