They wrote so much
about it that nobody believed them, and I am not surprised. True
love suffers, and is silent. I remember myself once--But it is no
matter now. Romance is a thing of the past."
"Nonsense!" said the Roman Candle, "Romance never dies. It is like
the moon, and lives for ever. The bride and bridegroom, for
instance, love each other very dearly. I heard all about them this
morning from a brown-paper cartridge, who happened to be staying in
the same drawer as myself, and knew the latest Court news."
But the Catherine Wheel shook her head. "Romance is dead, Romance
is dead, Romance is dead," she murmured. She was one of those
people who think that, if you say the same thing over and over a
great many times, it becomes true in the end.
Suddenly, a sharp, dry cough was heard, and they all looked round.
It came from a tall, supercilious-looking Rocket, who was tied to
the end of a long stick. He always coughed before he made any
observation, so as to attract attention.
"Ahem! ahem!" he said, and everybody listened except the poor
Catherine Wheel, who was still shaking her head, and murmuring,
"Romance is dead.
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