give him the rose from the churchyard; little Zeno obeyed and walked
straight towards Melchior; opposite the sofa his courage failed him for a
moment, but he took heart again and laying his little hand on the
prematurely gray hair of the disheartened sage said, with all the sweet
charm peculiar to a child when it speaks to comfort one who is its
natural guardian and support:

"Father, little Zeno brings you a rose. It comes from the churchyard.
Mamma sent it to you with her love."

The doctor, deeply touched, sat up suddenly, grasped the child's hand
that held out the rose to him and tried to draw the boy towards him in
order to embrace him. But Zeno, instead of answering the loving words
addressed to him, struggled and cried out sharply, for the strong
pressure of his father's hand had driven a big thorn into his finger,
and the blood from the wound was running down onto his light blue dress.

The doctor was distracted. He had hurt the one creature for whose future
greatness he had sacrificed his waning strength.

There flowed the blood of his son who had come as messenger from his wife
On her he had lavished the one great love of his life and the white rose
that she had sent him lay at his feet!

As his gaze fell upon the flower that she had loved better than all
others, and then rested upon the crying child, a great tenderness filled
his soul and for the first time he felt deep remorse that he had not
dedicated his whole life to his love. To devote the remainder of his
time on earth, which he felt would be but short, to the child who stood
there crying, seemed to him at that moment his holiest duty; yet the