In their wisdom, anxious to
avoid trouble with the maids, the ladies had chosen a married man.
But, as misfortune would have it, the gardener had been married long
enough to be the father of an exceedingly pretty young daughter.
Frithiof quickly discovered the sweet blossom among the other roses in
the garden, and poured out all the good-will which lay stored up in
his heart for _that_ half of humanity to which he did not belong, on
this young girl, who was rather well developed and not without
education.
He spent a good deal of his time in the garden and stopped to talk to
her whenever he found her working at one of the flower-beds or cutting
flowers. She did not respond to his advances, but this only had the
effect of stimulating his passion.
One day he was riding through the wood, haunted, as usual, by visions
of her loveliness which, in his opinion, reached the very pinnacle of
perfection. He was sick with longing to meet her alone, freed from all
fear of incurring some watcher's displeasure. In his heated
imagination the desire of being near her had assumed such enormous
proportions, that he felt that life without her would be impossible.
He held the reins loosely in his hand, and the horse picked his way
leisurely while its rider sat on its back wrapped in deep thought.
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