not give you the satisfaction of knowing that I understand your meanness."
Landolin's wagon with the two great horses now overtook them. In it were seated mother and daughter, in holiday attire. Landolin's companion bowed quickly many times, and murmured, as he glanced at Thoma, "It is certainly true; she is the most beautiful girl in the country." Thoma asked if the men did not wish to ride, for there was a second seat in the "Schaarenbank," as they here call the Char-à-banc, which has now taken the place of the old-fashioned coach. The men declined, and the wagon rolled on.
CHAPTER V
Mountain and valley must join each other after all. Down by the brook Anton was walking with his father, and from the hill-side Thoma was coming with hers. A few weeks only had passed since Anton and Thoma gave themselves to each other; but when once the verdure of the spring-time appears, its spread is strong and unceasing.
It came about thus: the snow was lying heavy on the mountains and in the ravines, on the fields it had begun to melt, when three young men in soldiers' caps had come one Sunday to Landolin's gate. They greeted as a comrade the servant Fidelis, who was currying the horses, and also wore a soldier's cap.
"What!" said Fidelis, "do you dare to invite the master's daughter?"
"Yes, of course."
"I don't believe that she'll consent, or rather that her father will, but he won't mind having the honor offered him."
"Come with us, Fidelis," said Anton, "you are one of us."
The other two young men, who were sons of rich farmers like Landolin, looked astonished, but said nothing.
"As you will," answered Fidelis; "just wait till I put my Sunday coat on."
He accompanied the three to the house, but stopped on the threshold, and allowed the farmers' sons to approach his master alone. After welcoming them, Landolin seated himself quickly and asked:
"What can I do for you?"
The son of the farmer, Titus, called the Mountain-king, who lived on the other side of the plateau, a tall fellow with broad shoulders and a boyish face, answered glibly, as though reciting a carefully committed lesson, that they had come most humbly to invite the maiden Thoma to be Maid of Honor at the presentation of the flag to the Club.
"Who are to be the other maids of honor?" asked Landolin.
"My sister and the daughter of the District Forester."
Landolin nodded, and then asked on what day the festival was to take place. Anton, who had not before spoken, answered that the fifteenth of July had been chosen, as it was the anniversary of the declaration of war, and fortunately happened to fall on Sunday. He added adroitly, "that they desired to change the day of terror into one of gladness."
Landolin looked up, astonished at Anton's temerity in addressing him; then fixed his eye on the mountain prince, who, instead of replying himself, had permitted the miller's son to speak.
"You make arrangements far in advance; it's a long time from now to the middle of July; but never mind. We thank you for the honor, but we cannot join you," said Landolin, with decision.
"All right, we need go only one house farther," quickly answered the mountain prince, his face reddening. He was about turning away, when Anton interrupted:
"Pardon me; but if I have rightly understood the ex-bailiff, he is going to leave the decision to his daughter."
The farmer compressed his lips craftily, then said:
"Yes, yes; you are right. And mind you, I shall not say a word to her, and you shall find that she will give you the same answer that I gave."
"May I ask why?" inquired the mountain prince.
"You may ask," answered the peasant, going to the door and calling to Thoma to bring wine and something to eat. It seemed as if Thoma had already prepared this, for she came immediately, the young men following her movements with admiring eyes. She poured the wine, they touched their glasses, and Anton had begun to repeat his request, when she interrupted him:
"Say no more!"
Anton turned pale, and Thoma blushed; their eyes met, and Thoma's eyelids dropped. In a moment, however, she looked up frankly, and continued:
"I have heard all that has been said."
"Bravo! that's splendid!" cried Anton; "pardon me, but I imagine there are few who would so honestly confess that they had been listening."
"I thank you for your praise, but it is nothing-that is, I mean being honest deserves no praise."
The farmer shrugged his shoulders, and opened his mouth with delight. "He's getting it now," thought he, "she pays in good coin."
Turning to her father, Thoma continued:
"Father, did you really mean that I should do as I choose?"
"Certainly! Whatever you say will be right."
"Then I say yes; I accept the honor with thanks."
Fidelis, who was standing at the door, bit his lip to keep from laughing aloud; and an expression of astonishment spread itself over the faces of the farmer and the three young men. The mountain-prince and the other farmer's son thanked Thoma and shook hands with her, but when Anton offered his hand she turned quickly away, and busied herself with the plates and glasses.
Meanwhile the farmer's wife had entered, unnoticed, and now, whilst they were enjoying the refreshment, spoke to them all, for she knew their mothers. Turning to Anton, she expressed her sympathy at his mother's death, saying that she was a most excellent woman, and that her happiness must have been great indeed when her only son returned from the war, safe and with honor.
After the three young men had gone, the farmer's wife said:
"Anton's a splendid fellow, he pleases me best of them all."
"Do you think so too?" the farmer was about to ask his daughter, but he refrained, and only answered:
"He has a tongue like a lawyer's; the only real substantial farmer is Titus's son and heir."
Thoma left the room without a word, and that which Landolin dreaded came to pass. From this time Thoma and Anton met often, in public and alone, in the bright day time and the quiet evening. And when at length Thoma told her father of her love, he calmly endeavored to show her that this would be an unequal marriage, and that he had always had confidence that her pride would not allow her to throw herself away; as, however, he found that Thoma never wavered in her decision, he was wise enough to give his consent, thereby securing their gratitude instead of having to yield without it; for above all else he valued Thoma's love and respect.
So it came to pass, that to-day was to take place the betrothal of the haughty Landolin's proud daughter with her honest, but not quite so well-born lover, Anton.
CHAPTER VI
"Mother!" said Thoma, during the drive, "when father was young he must have been the handsomest man in the country."
"He was, indeed, but wild and unruly, very wild; you will have a more gentle husband. It will be just the opposite with you to what it was with us."
Thoma looked up wonderingly; it was unusual for her mother either to think or speak so much; and her astonishment increased when her mother added:
"If your father had been a soldier like Anton, he too would have learned to give way to others, and not always think himself the only person in the world. Heaven forgive me, I was not going to speak of your father at all, I only meant to tell you that you must now learn to give up to others; with marriage willfulness must end."
The deference with which Thoma had listened at first, disappeared now that her mother concluded with advice and censure. She moved her lips impatiently, but said nothing.
From the valley could be heard the din of the fair; the drums and trumpets in the show booths, the lowing of the cows and oxen, and the whinnying of the horses in the broad meadow by the river side.
At the foot of the mountain, where the signpost is, Thoma beckoned to her a beggar, who sat