Landolin still remained silent, the miller felt called upon to speak.
"I can well understand that it must be hard for you to let your daughter leave your house; we found it so when our only daughter was married. My wife-it is from her that Anton gets his ready speech-said that when the daughter who sang as she went up and down the stairs is gone, then it seems that all the cheerfulness of the house has flown away like a bird."
At these stupid, soft-hearted words, Landolin gave the miller a disdainful look. But he did not notice this, and went on in a voice too low for the lovers to hear:
"I needn't praise Anton to you any more. He belongs to you as well as to me. He is well educated; the military authorities wished to keep him in the army. They said he would be made an officer, but that is not for one of us. It will not be long before your daughter is the wife of the bailiff. My wife, thank God, lived to see him come home from the war with the great medal of honor. I'm sure you are glad of it too. A man with that medal is worth much, I do not mean in money, but wherever he goes he is esteemed and respected, and needn't stand back for anybody, no matter who he is."
"We needn't do that, either," said Landolin, looking at the miller arrogantly. He laughed aloud when the miller added:
"The judge's wife put it well when she said, 'Wherever he goes he has the honorable recognition of the highest rank in the whole kingdom.'"
"Hoho!" cried Landolin, so loudly that even the lovers started. There was nothing more said; for, as the fair was over, the miller's relatives and the brother of Landolin's wife came in. The farmer's wife greeted her brother affectionately; and Landolin shook hands with him, and bade him welcome. He and his brother-in-law were enemies, as the brother-in-law sided with Titus; but to-day it was only proper that he should be invited to the family festival.
They sat down together to the feast, when the miller remarked that next Sunday he would go with the lovers to visit the patriarch Walderjörgli, in the forest, and announce to him their betrothal. Landolin's face reddened to the roots of his hair, and he exclaimed:
"I don't care anything for the patriarch. I don't care anything for old customs; and, as for me, Walderjörgli, with his long beard, is no saint; he's not down in my calendar."
"He is a relative of my wife," replied the miller, "and you know very well of how much importance he is."
"Just as much as there is in my glass," answered Landolin, after he had drained it.
His wife, fearing a quarrel, declared she had great respect for Walderjörgli, and begged her husband to say nothing against him. Thoma joined her, and laid her hand on her father's shoulder, imploring him not to stir up a dispute unnecessarily.
Landolin smiled on his child; poured a fresh glass of wine, and drank to the lovers' health.
Anton and Thoma now started to go, but Landolin cried excitedly:
"Hold on! Wait a moment, Anton! You mustn't ask for the marriage to take place before Candlemas. Give me your hand on it."
"I have no hand to give. I have already given it to Thoma," replied Anton, laughing, as he went away with his betrothed.
CHAPTER XI
"How many friends you have!" said Thoma; for they were often stopped on their way through the crowded fair grounds, especially by Anton's old comrades. "I wish we were alone," she added impatiently.
"Yes, love," answered Anton, "if we choose the day of the fair for our betrothal, and show ourselves then for the first time together, we must expect these congratulations, and I am glad to have them. Isn't it delightful to have so many people rejoice with us in our happiness? It adds to their enjoyment without taking from ours."
"Do you really believe they rejoice?" asked Thoma.
The conversation was interrupted by the handless beggar, who came up to thank Thoma again, and tell her how astonished he was at such a gift. He said he had been her father's substitute (for at that time substitutes in the military service were still allowed).
Anton encouraged him to tell where he had lost his hand. It was on a circular saw, in a mill on the other side of the valley. Anton told him to come the next day, and perhaps he could give him work. While he was speaking the judge's wife approached, and congratulated them heartily. Thoma looked at her in surprise when she said:
"You are the new generation; preserve the honesty of the old, and add to it the progressiveness of the present. I shall write to my son of your betrothal."
Anton shook hands twice with the judge's wife.
"I beg you will give the lieutenant my most respectful greetings."
It was still difficult for the lovers to disengage themselves from the crowd, for a group of Anton's comrades surrounded them, saying:
"At your wedding we are going to march in front of you with the flag of the Club and the regimental music."
Anton thanked them, and said he would be much pleased.
He had scarcely got out of the throng, when a teamster in a blue jacket, who was walking beside a four-horse wagon, called out, "Captain Anton Armbruster! Hallo!" and came up to him and said:
"How are you? So you've got her, have you? Is that she? Is that Thoma?"
"Yes."
"Then I wish you happiness and blessing. How tall and beautiful she is! Let me shake hands with you."
Thoma gave her hand with reluctance, and the teamster continued jokingly:
"Get him to tell you what he did one night when we were before Paris. We were lying by the camp-fire, roasted on one side, frozen on the other. Anton, who was asleep, called out, 'Thoma! Thoma!' He wouldn't own up to it afterwards, but I heard it plain enough. Well, good-by; may God keep you both. Get up," he called to his horses, and drove on.
At last the lovers made their way out of the crowd to the quiet meadow-path, where, for a time, they walked hand in hand, then stood still. Any one who saw them must have thought they were speaking loving words to each other. The youth's voice was full of tenderness, but he spoke not of love, or, at least, not of love for his betrothed. He began hesitatingly: "Let me tell you something, darling."
"What is it? What's the matter?"
"Just think of our being here together, and having each other, and belonging to each other, and only a little while ago I was so far away in France. There, in the field, on the march, or in the camp, thousands upon thousands of us, we were like one man, no one for himself, no one thinking of what he was at home. The brotherhood was all; and now, each lives for himself alone."
"You are not alone, we are together."
"Yes, indeed. But you were going to ask me something."
"Oh, yes! How did it happen that you called my name in your sleep?"
"I'll tell you. Do you remember my passing your house when I was on my way to the army as a recruit?"
"Certainly I remember it."
"Did you notice that I took a roundabout way over the mountain, so as to pass it?"
"I didn't notice it then, but afterward I thought of it. When you gave me your hand in farewell you looked at me with your fiery eyes, that are so piercing."
"Yes,
