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There was once a butterfly who wished for a bride. He glanced at all flower-beds. He found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged. But there was a great number of them. The butterfly did not like to take too much trouble. He flew off on a visit to the daisies. The Frech call this flower "Marguerite," and they say that the little daisy can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pşuck each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers: "Does he or she love me? Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?" and so on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. The butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves. He pressed a kiss on each of them. He thought there was always more to be done by kindness.