One youth in Cologne held out against the standing tyranny, and chose to do beauty homage in his own fashion, and at his leisure.  It was Farina, and oaths were registered against him over empty beer-barrels.  An axiom of the White Rose Club laid it down that everybody must be enamoured of Margarita, and the conscience of the Club made them trebly suspicious of those who were not members.  They had the consolation of knowing that Farina was poor, but then he was affirmed a student of Black Arts, and from such a one the worst might reasonably be feared.  He might bewitch Margarita!

Dietrich Schill was deputed by the Club to sound the White Rose herself on the subject of Farina, and one afternoon in the vintage season, when she sat under the hot vine-poles among maiden friends, eating ripe grapes, up sauntered Dietrich, smirking, cap in hand, with his scroll trailed behind him.

‘Wilt thou?’ said Margarita, offering him a bunch.

‘Unhappy villain that I am!’ replied Dietrich, gesticulating fox-like refusal; ‘if I but accept a favour, I break faith with the Club.’

‘Break it to pleasure me,’ said Margarita, smiling wickedly.

Dietrich gasped.  He stood on tiptoe to see if any of the Club were by, and half-stretched out his hand.  A mocking laugh caused him to draw it back as if stung.  The grapes fell.  Farina was at Margarita’s feet offering them in return.

‘Wilt thou?’ said Margarita, with softer stress, and slight excess of bloom in her cheeks.

Farina put the purple cluster to his breast, and clutched them hard on his heart, still kneeling.

Margarita’s brow and bosom seemed to be reflections of the streaming crimson there.  She shook her face to the sky, and affected laughter at the symbol.  Her companions clapped hands.  Farina’s eyes yearned to her once, and then he rose and joined in the pleasantry.

Fury helped Dietrich to forget his awkwardness.  He touched Farina on the shoulder with two fingers, and muttered huskily:  ’The Club never allow that.’

Farina bowed, as to thank him deeply for the rules of the Club.  ’I am not a member, you know,’ said he, and strolled to a seat close by Margarita.

Dietrich glared after him.  As head of a Club he understood the use of symbols.  He had lost a splendid opportunity, and Farina had seized it.  Farina had robbed him.

‘May I speak with Mistress Margarita?’ inquired the White Rose chief, in a ragged voice.

‘Surely, Dietrich! do speak,’ said Margarita.

‘Alone?’ he continued.

‘Is that allowed by the Club?’ said one of the young girls, with a saucy glance.

Dietrich deigned no reply, but awaited Margarita’s decision.  She hesitated a second; then stood up her full height before him; faced him steadily, and beckoned him some steps up the vine-path.  Dietrich bowed, and passing Farina, informed him that the Club would wring satisfaction out of him for the insult.