There, below, is hope, the glorious inception of faith; but here is faith--it reigns, hope realized!" "You will never love me; I am too imperfect; you disdain me," said the young girl.
"Minna, the violet hidden at the feet of the oak whispers to itself: 'The sun does not love me; he comes not.' The sun says: 'If my rays shine upon her she will perish, poor flower.' Friend of the flower, he sends his beams through the oak leaves, he veils, he tempers them, and thus they color the petals of his beloved.

I have not veils enough, I fear lest you see me too closely; you would tremble if you knew me better.

Listen: I have no taste for earthly fruits.

Your joys, I know them all too well, and, like the sated emperors of pagan Rome, I have reached disgust of all things; I have received the gift of vision.

Leave me! abandon me!" he murmured, sorrowfully.
Seraphitus turned and seated himself on a projecting rock, dropping his head upon his breast.
"Why do you drive me to despair ?" said Minna.
"Go, go!" cried Seraphitus, "I have nothing that you want of me.