They are flowers that will not wither.

Add a kiss, sweetheart, the sharpest stab, and so the chief flower, the very rose of flowers.

There, that is well," and she rose from her knees and turned away.

So she stood for a little, and when she turned again she wore upon her face the smile which she had bidden rise in his.
"Would we were free!" cried the Chevalier.
"But since we are not, let us show brave faces to the world and hide our hearts.

I do wish you all happiness.