On the following morning the traveller rose rested and refreshed, but he
was not able to continue his journey in consequence of the illness of
his wife.
The master of the house was pleased when he heard that the strangers
must pass some more days in his house, and old Stanislas began almost to
think that the pears might grow on the willows after all.
The stranger was not exactly a rich man, but he had enough, was deemed
an honest man, and lived honourably. He was much pleased with his
friendly host, and as he was one day talking to his wife, who had much
improved in her health, he said—
“Margaret, it strikes me that our host is in love with our daughter
Mary, and, from what I can see, I think she does not dislike him. I
cannot but be pleased with it.”
“Oh,” said his wife, “you only imagine it.” But she was secretly pleased
that her husband had no objection to what she had herself very much
wished.
“The man is not poor, he has lived here a long time, he has proved
himself a gentleman,” went on the husband, walking up and down the room,
“and our daughter is old enough to be married and take on her the cares
of a household.”
In the evening the husband, having partaken of the host’s good wine,
stroked his grey moustache with satisfaction, and listened with joy when
the master of the house asked for his daughter’s hand.
“My brother,” said he after a short pause, “I am pleased with you, and
since you ask no dowry with my daughter, and you have enough to live
upon, she shall be your wife.”
Three months later the terrible man took his wife home. The grass and
weeds were cleared from the avenue of poplars, and many horses and
carriages passed along it to and fro, as relations and friends of the
beautiful bride came in troops to the wedding at the White House. In a
few days, however, all was still again, and fresh grass and weeds began
to grow in the avenue under the poplars.