_Margaret_. Did not my downcast eyes show you surprised me?

_Faust_. And thou forgav'st that liberty, of late?
That impudence of mine, so daring,
As thou wast home from church repairing?

_Margaret_. I was confused, the like was new to me;
No one could say a word to my dishonor.
Ah, thought I, has he, haply, in thy manner
Seen any boldness--impropriety?
It seemed as if the feeling seized him,
That he might treat this girl just as it pleased him.
Let me confess! I knew not from what cause,
Some flight relentings here began to threaten danger;
I know, right angry with myself I was,
That I could not be angrier with the stranger.

_Faust_. Sweet darling!

_Margaret_. Let me once!

[_She plucks a china-aster and picks off the leaves one after another_.]

_Faust_. What's that for? A bouquet?

_Margaret_. No, just for sport.

_Faust_. How?

_Margaret_. Go! you'll laugh at me; away!
[_She picks and murmurs to herself_.]

_Faust_. What murmurest thou?

_Margaret [half aloud_]. He loves me--loves me not.

_Faust_. Sweet face! from heaven that look was caught!

_Margaret [goes on_]. Loves me--not--loves me--not--
[_picking off the last leaf with tender joy_]
He loves me!

_Faust_. Yes, my child! And be this floral word
An oracle to thee. He loves thee!
Knowest thou all it mean? He loves thee!
[_Clasping both her hands_.]

_Margaret_. What thrill is this!

_Faust_. O, shudder not! This look of mine.
This pressure of the hand shall tell thee
What cannot be expressed:
Give thyself up at once and feel a rapture,
An ecstasy never to end!
Never!--It's end were nothing but blank despair.
No, unending! unending!

[MARGARET _presses his hands, extricates herself, and runs away.
He stands a moment in thought, then follows her_].

_Martha [coming_]. The night falls fast.

_Mephistopheles_. Ay, and we must away.

_Martha_. If it were not for one vexation,
I would insist upon your longer stay.
Nobody seems to have no occupation,
No care nor labor,
Except to play the spy upon his neighbor;
And one becomes town-talk, do whatsoe'er they may.
But where's our pair of doves?

_Mephistopheles_. Flown up the alley yonder.
Light summer-birds!

_Martha_. He seems attached to her.

_Mephistopheles_. No wonder.
And she to him. So goes the world, they say.

A SUMMER-HOUSE.

MARGARET [_darts in, hides behind the door, presses the tip of
her finger to her li