They bloom together, they wither together; not one of them is inconstant.

This is the bliss of flowers.
These are all happy lovers." Then Rudolf threw away the iris, and plucked an amaranth.
"Now, here we have the aristocrats.

In the higher compartment is the husband, in the lower the wife--upper-class married life.

Nevertheless, the ashen-purple colour of the flower shows that its life is happy." Here Rudolf rubbed the amaranth between his fingers, and innumerable little dark seeds fell into the palm of his hand.
"As black as pearls, you see," said Rudolf.
"Yes, as pearls," lisped Fanny, thinking it quite natural that they should pour out of the youth's hand into her own, for it was a shame to lose them.

There was not a pure pearl in the Indies that she would have exchanged for these little seeds.