“Ah! yes, Franzchen,” answered her companion, “from the first, you were romantic and fanciful. But I remember well, with what childish superiority I at first looked down upon you. When Aunt Katrine told me one day, that she was going to bring little Franzchen Deshalbens to see me,—I cried contemptuously—What, Aunt!—That girl, with such a little unwashed face, and such great black eyes to see me!—I don’t like babies for play-fellows! But before you had been with me long, I learned to like you well enough, and think I might possibly find pleasure in the companionship of one younger than myself. You remember, we went into the garden, and as we sat upon the mound, you told me the story of ‘the fair lady and the genii.’ I soon forgot my disdain, and besought you to continue, until the moon rose upon your endless and enchanting recitals.” “Yes, indeed! Magda. I too remember with what dignity you received me. But that only pleased me, because it corresponded with the character I had drawn out for you, of a great princess. But I think I should have been a little overawed, if Aunt Katrine had not spoken so kindly to me. Then when I commenced to speak of my favorite stories, you seemed to think such things so far beneath you, that I did not expect the interest with which you afterward listened.” “And then, Franzchen, I used to come to the fence at the foot of the garden, to see you sitting on the ground, building a castle with small sticks, and you, little muddy thing, would look up with your great dark eyes, to tell me of some new tale you had been reading, and you would fix upon a character in it for each of us. Sometimes you were the hero or heroine of the piece, and would tell the whole in the first person. What a changeful, chameleon-like creature you made yourself out to be. Now you were the brave knight, Sir George, and rode fighting for Christendom; and now as the sorrowful Griselda, you told me of your cruel, task-exacting aunt, until the tears came into my eyes; or you spoke of yourself as ‘the fair one with the locks of gold,’ while all the time your curling black hair fell over your face. Do you know, Franzchen, I often envy you those curling dark locks? Stay now, while I arrange these white jasmins in your hair. Flowers never look so well in mine.” “Dear Magda, how can you envy me, with your beautiful, light, braided hair? Do you know, last night, I thought you looked like an old Grecian statue, with your fine features, and tall, fine figure; and you spoke to every one with so much ease and self-possession.” “There, now! Franzchen. You are running away again from all common sense, into the crazy region of your imagination. Do not try to make a heroine of me, I beseech you, or expect me to take all your fancies for realities. But it is growing late. I hope you are not too romantic to eat any supper.”