Then, in a moment of ecstasy,
Hans cried out, "Would that the Emperor were here!" Just as if he felt
that no one but the Emperor was worthy of sharing his great joy.
As the Emperor did not come, Hans cut the initials "M." and "H." in the
bark of the rosebush, and above it a little crown. This meant "Marie,
Hans and Emperor Maximilian."
The fall passed and winter came; and the children now seldom saw each
other. Hans sang so frequently beneath Marie's window that her father
heard him one night, and in great anger threatened to punish her if she
continued her acquaintance with this boy.
One evening Hans and Marie stood for the last time under the rose-bush
which they had planted eight years before. He was now a youth of twenty
years; she a rosebud of sixteen summers.
It was a lowering day in February. The snow had melted and a light wind
shook the bare branches of the bush. With downcast eyes she had related
to him all she had been forced to hear concerning him; and big tears
rolled down her cheeks.
"Marie," said the boy in deep grief, "I suppose you will finally be made
to believe that I am really a bad person?"
Then she looked full upon him, and a light smile played over her
features as she said: "No, Hans, never, never. No one can make me doubt
you. They do not understand you, but I do. You have taught me (what the
others do not know) everything that is good and great and noble. You
have made me what I am; just as your artistic hands have cut beautiful
forms out of dead wood.
Pages:
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54