But their voices died away unanswered; for, far from them, the Emperor
was concerned with the affairs of State. The children waited for him in
vain. The Emperor came no more.

As the time went by, the children grew, and the rose-bush grew also.
Just as if the tender threads of love in their hearts had unconsciously
entwined them as one around the roots of the little bush, it kept
drawing them to itself, there in the niche of the wall. There they found
each other, day after day. The bush was like a true friend, who held
their two hands fast in his. But their true friend was not strong enough
to hold together what other people wished to separate.

The lovely, highly respected Counselor's daughter was no longer
permitted to meet Hans. Her father forbade her one day, saying that Hans
was not only poor but was not even a native of the town. His ancestors
were Hollanders who had wandered into Breisach. A stranger he was, and a
poor stranger at that. He was a sort of Pariah and could not be fitted
into their time-honored customs. Then, too, he did not pursue any
regular trade. "He expects to be an artist." At that time that was as
good as to be a robber, or a tramp or a conjurer.

Whatever Hans did or whatever he worked at, he kept a secret. He had
bought the little house in which he dwelt, and since his mother's death
had lived there all alone. Nobody came or went, except a famous sculptor
who had quarreled one day with a native in Breisach and been obliged to
leave the town. People said that Hans helped him get away. Ever since
that time Hans had been in ill-repute with his rich neighbor, the
Counselor.

Often Hans met Marie at the "Emperor's Bush," and these little meetings