“Hold, I pray thee, O Sulpicius!” interrupted Sabinus, as he turned to a little flower-girl who just then entered the garden. “Come hither, little maid, and give us thy flowers. How fresh they are!”
“They were gathered and watered in the early morn. Not until the sun began to descend were they placed in my basket,” replied the little girl.
“We will buy them all, frail little flower. What is thy name?”
“Rosilla,” replied the child, bashfully.
“Take thy basket. Here is a coin. Art thou content, O Rosilla?” asked Sabinus.
The child, surprised and contented, bashfully withdrew without making any reply.
“What pretty things flowers are!” added Sabinus. “Here are blue iris and violets for thee, O Merope. And for thee, O Elea, are gorgeous roses. Here is one like a kissing mouth. Ah, Merope, with these violets in thy fair hair thou art a Flora.”
“If thy Merope is a Flora, my Elea is the Greek Chloris,” added Sulpicius.
“Dost thou mean the Greek goddess of flowers or the daughter of Niobe, O Sulpicius?” asked Elea.
“Whichever is the prettier, my fragrant flower. But why?” he asked.