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When the mother of Jacobus learned the name of
her guest, she proceeded herself to set the table for Pansy. It will be strange,
indeed, thought she, if this does not give my son the idea of some capital
great book, that shall bring us money, and give him access to the prince. But
the pansy objected to having much done for her. A slight matter served for her
refreshment. She soon recovered her vigor, and found herself in a condition to
notice the scene about her.
The room in which they were, resembled a
greenhouse, so full was it of flowers and shrubs. Some of those climbed up the
walls – others hung in arabesque from the ceiling. Buds scarcely opened, were
seen side by side with full-blown flowers. The petals of others, already faded,
were gradually dropping off, but did not, for this, seem less beautiful. Books,
open or shut, marked in some places by green leaves, to keep the favorite
passages, were scattered here and there among the vases. The shelves in the
library of Jacobus were either the branches of shrubs, or tufts of flowers.
With his eye fixed on Pansy, the poet forgot
to eat. Never had he seen a woman so handsome, or beauty so attractive. He was
especially pleased with her calm, deep eye, which had only, it seemed, to rest
upon any object in order to give it forthwith a delightful charm, and a sort of
genial glow.
The Pansy felt it her duty to thank her
entertainer, but at the first word of acknowledgment, Jacobus checked her.
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