"Don't make fun of me," she said, slightly shamed, and arose.

"And what is the object of your yearning?" he asked in order to leave
the realm of Goethe as swiftly as possible. "Not you, you horrible
person," she answered and, for a moment, touched his hair with
her lips.

"I know that, dearest," he said, "it's a long time since you've sent
me two notes a day."

"And since you came to see me twice daily," she returned and gazed at
the floor with a sad irony.

"We have both changed greatly, Alice."

"We have indeed, Richard."

A silence ensued.

His eyes wandered to the opposite wall.... His own picture, framed in
silvery maple-wood, hung there.... Behind the frame appeared a bunch
of blossoms, long faded and shrivelled to a brownish, indistinguishable
heap.

These two alone knew the significance of the flowers....

"Were you at least happy in those days, Alice?"

"You know I am always happy, Richard."