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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 seemed to make them like each other more than they had ever dreamed. After Hans had missed Marie for many days, he sang a little song beneath her window.

The next day she met Hans at the “Emperor’s Bush,” and there they promised to be true to each others always. Then, in a moment of ecstasy, Hans cried out, “Would that the Emperor were here!” Just as if he felt that no one but the Emperor was worthy of sharing his great joy.

As the Emperor did not come, Hans cut the initials “M.” and “H.” in the bark of the rosebush, and above it a little crown. This meant “Marie, Hans and Emperor Maximilian.”

The fall passed and winter came; and the children now seldom saw each other. Hans sang so frequently beneath Marie’s window that her father heard him one night, and in great anger threatened to punish her if she continued her acquaintance with this boy.

One evening Hans and Marie stood for the last time under the rose-bush which they had planted eight years before. He was now a youth of twenty years; she a rosebud of sixteen summers.

It was a lowering day in February. The snow had melted and a light wind shook the bare branches of the bush. With downcast eyes she had related to him all she had been forced to hear concerning him; and big tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Marie,” said the boy in deep grief, “I suppose you will finally be made to believe that I am really a bad person?”

Then she looked full upon him, and a light smile played over her features as she said: “No, Hans, never, never. No one can make me doubt you. They do not understand you, but I do. You have taught me (what the others do not know) everything that is good and great and noble. You have made me what I am; just as your artistic hands have cut beautiful forms out of dead wood.” She took his big, brown hands and gently pressed them to her lips. “I believe in you, for you worship the Supreme with your art; and the man who does that, in word or deed, cannot be wicked.”

“And will you always remain true, Marie, till I have perfected myself and my art, and can return to claim you?”

“Yes, Hans, I will wait for you; and should I die before you return, it is here under this rosebush, where we have spent so many happy hours, that I wish to be buried. You must return here to rest, when wearied by your troubles; and every rose-leaf that falls upon you will be a good wish from me.”

Her tears fell silently, and their hearts were sorely tried by the grief of parting.

“Don’t cry,” said Hans, “all will yet be well. I am going to Durer, as the Emperor bade me. I will learn all that I can; and when I feel I know something, I will seek the Emperor, wherever he may be, tell him my desires, and beg him to intercede for me with your father.”

“Oh, yes, the Emperor–if he were only here, he would help us.”

“Perhaps he will come again,” said Hans. “We will pray that he be sent to us, or I to him.”

They sank upon their knees in the cold, soft winter grass; and it seemed to them as if a miracle would be performed, and the rose-bush be changed into the Emperor.