"Signora," said Flodoardo, merely for the sake of saying something,
"you do well to enjoy the open air. The evening is beautiful."
"But I interrupt your studies, my lord," said Rosabella.
"By no means," answered Flodoardo; and there this interesting
conversation came to a full stop. Both looked down; both examined
the heaven and the earth, the trees and the flowers, in the hopes of
finding some hints for renewing the conversation; but the more
anxiously they sought them, the more difficult did it seem to find
what they sought; and in this painful embarrassment did two whole
precious minutes elapse.
"Ah, what a beautiful flower!" suddenly cried Rosabella, in order to
break the silence, then stooped and plucked a violet with an
appearance of the greatest eagerness, though, in fact, nothing at
that moment could have been more a matter of indifference.
"It is a very beautiful flower, indeed," gravely observed Flodoardo,
and was out of all patience with himself for having made so flat a
speech.
"Nothing can surpass this purple," continued Rosabella; "red and
blue so happily blended, that no painter can produce so perfect a
union."
"Red and blue--the one the symbol of happiness, the other of
affection. Ah, Rosabella! how enviable will be that man's lot on
whom your hand shall bestow such a flower. Happiness and affection
are not more inseparably united than the red and blue which purple
that violet."
"You seem to attach a value to the flower of which it is but little
deserving."
"Might I but know on whom Rosabella will one day bestow what that
flower expresses. Yet, this is a subject which I have no right to
discuss. I know not what has happened to me to-day. I make nothing
but blunders and mistakes. Forgive my presumption, lady. I will
hazard such forward inquiries no more."
He was silent. Rosabella was silent also.
But though they could forbid their lips to betray their hidden
affection; though Rosabella said not--"Thou art he on whom this
flower shall be bestowed:" though Flodoardo's words had not
expressed--"Rosabella, give me that violet, and that which it
implies"--oh, their eyes were far from being silent. Those
treacherous interpreters of secret feelings acknowledged more to
each other than their hearts had yet acknowledged to themselves.
Flodoardo and Rosabella gazed on each other with looks which made
all speech unnecessary. Sweet, tender, and enthusiastic was the
smile which played around Rosabella's lips when her eyes met those
of the youth whom she had selected from the rest of mankind; and
with mingled emotions of hope and fear did the youth study the
meaning of that smile. He understood it, and his heart beat louder,
and his eye flamed brighter.