the world which was to end. Let me hasten to close this true
heart-rending history.

There was a great dinner as the sun began to set, and the mistress
of the house came in on the arm of the great foreign prince; and
what did the foreign prince do but look up at Rosa, straight up at
her, and over the heads of the azaleas, and say to his hostess:
"What a beautiful rose you have there! A Niphetos, is it not?"

And her mistress, who had known her long as simple Rosa Damascena,
answered, "Yes, sir; it is a Niphetos."

Oh, to have lived for that hour! The silly thing thought it worth
all her suffering from the gardener's knife, all the loss of her
robust health and delightful power of flowering in all four
seasons. She was a Niphetos, really and truly a Niphetos! and not
one syllable hinted as to her origin! She began to believe she had
been BORN a tea rose!

The dinner was long and gorgeous; the guests were dazzling in
jewels and in decorations; the table was loaded with old plate and
rare china; the prince made a speech and used her as a simile of
love and joy and purity and peace. The rose felt giddy with
triumph and with the fumes of the wines around her. Her vase was
of purple and gold, and all the voices round her said, "Oh, the
beautiful rose!" No one noticed the azaleas. How she wished that
the blackbird could see for a minute, if the cat would gobble him
up the next!

The day sped on; the chatelaine and her guests went away; the