"We could not think of letting you go in this heat," said Primula, letting her hand gently glide into the work-basket, a movement which did not escape Oswald. "We are not overshadowed here by the tall pine-tree or the white poplar, but at least we are in the shade, and you surely would not exchange that for the heat and dust of the highroad? Out of question! Another cup, my honored guest? This is not Falernian, as the great Roman calls it in the ode from which I quoted just now, but a beverage which has become somewhat classic in its turn, since our great Voss has sung 'its praises in his noble verses.' Tell me, dear sir, has not the sojourn under our lowly roof reminded you of certain parts of his lovely idyl? Have you not felt with me, that here, far from the turmoil of the markets of men, the voice of poetry is heard speaking to us distinctly?" "Now the terrible event is approaching!" thought Oswald. "I admire your gift," he said, "to bind so sweetly old and new things, reality and poetry, into a common wreath, full of fragrance. I myself have unfortunately of late come in contact with the prose of daily life alone; and, I confess it with reluctance, I have done the thing I formerly considered impossible, and reconciled myself with it, although of course I have had to pay a penalty by losing all taste for the charms of poetry." "Oh, you must not think so," exclaimed Primula. "The well of poetry may at times pour forth less abundant waters, but it never dries up entirely. You accuse yourself of being no longer susceptible to the charms of poetry. That--here she put her hand openly upon the little volume in black and gold--that ought perhaps to deter me from my purpose to read to you a few of those poems which you may have noticed, under the pseudonym of Primula Veris, in several of our prominent magazines. But my faith in the power of poetry, and especially of the latent poetry of the heart, is too great to allow my being convinced of the contrary by your self-condemnation. May I venture the attempt to put the correctness of my views to the test?" "How have I deserved such very great kindness?" murmured Oswald, leaning back in full resignation, and closing the eyes in a manner which fortunately is common to persons who are half asleep as well as to those who are in ecstasy. "I have given the title of Cornflowers to my little work," said Primula, turning over the leaves in sweet bashfulness, "because most of my poems have bloomed forth while I was walking through waving wheatfields, and at all events amid rural surroundings." "How clever!" breathed Oswald. "Following the rules of the masters of our art, and imitating the example of the Greeks, who placed a tragedy before a comedy, or rather, who made the comedy always succeed the tragedy, I shall read you first a serious, then a comic, then again...." "Certainly, certainly; that will much enhance the charm of each poem," said Oswald, frightened at the endless perspective.