The hostess of the "Sword"--it so happens that every one speaks of the
hostess and not of the host, and her husband seems to be quite
satisfied with it--this wise woman, according to a plan of her own, had
changed and enlarged the old inn until it was twice as large as before.
For, as soon as a spot had been fixed upon for a railway station, she
had a new building added on the side toward the river, with a large
summer hall and verandas, where the people of rank in the village could
hold their summer gatherings in the open air. The corner room of the
house, on the town side, she arranged especially for betrothal
festivities. There was a great mirror, in which people could survey
themselves at full length--to be sure not always an advantage. There
were colored prints of young lovers, of marriages, of christenings, and
of golden weddings.
At the table sat the miller and Landolin's wife, and waited long for
the farmer. The miller was annoyed, and Landolin's wife did not know
what to say, for she could not deny that her husband probably kept the
miller waiting intentionally, in order to show him who was the more
important.
The miller had an earnest, good-natured face, and a thoughtfulness in
every word and gesture. He had a high regard for the farmer's wife, and
expressed it to her. She looked down, abashed, for she was not used to
being praised, and became silent. The miller, too, ceased talking, and
whistled gently to himself.
At length Landolin's step was heard, and following him came Thoma and
Anton. Landolin shook hands with the miller.
"I have been waiting a long time," the miller said.
Landolin did not consider it necessary to excuse himself; he thought
people must be satisfied with all he did, and the way in which he did
it.
The miller poured out some of the wine which stood on the table, and,
after touching glasses, Landolin said:
"We have really nothing more to arrange. You know what division Peter
must make when he takes the estate. The money I have promised I will
pay down the day before the wedding. The five acres of forest which I
have bought, which border on your land, and are properly no part of my
farm, I now give to Thoma to be hers in her own right. You have no one
but your son, so there is nothing more to be said. Of course, you will
not marry again?"
The miller smiled sadly, and said at length:
"Then give your hands to one another in God's name, and may happiness
and blessing be yours for all time."
The lovers clasped each other's hands firmly, and so did the fathers
and mother.
The betrothed drank from the same glass; and it was a good omen that
Thoma did not take from his hand the glass, which Anton held out to
her, but drank whilst he held it.
Landolin might have spoken, but he remained silent. It is not necessary
for him to speak. Is he not Landolin? He even looked suspiciously at
the miller. He did not esteem him highly, for every one praised his
good nature, and Landolin was inclined to consider good nature as one
kind of rascality.
"Father-in-law," said Anton, "whenever you come to our house you will
find joy there, for as surely as our brook will never flow up the
mountain side, so surely will Thoma's thoughts never turn toward her
old home in discontent."
Landolin opened his eyes at this speech; but his only answer was a tap
on the shoulder. The miller said, with a trembling voice:
"Yes, yes; 'twill be beautiful to have a young woman in our house once
more."
"Thoma will hold you in all honor," said the farmer's wife. "She honors
her parents, and that makes sound housewives."
Landolin shrugged his shoulders slightly, when the miller continued:
"I'm very sure, Landolin, that your daughter is not so hot-tempered as
you and your side of the house have always been."
Landolin smiled, well pleased that people should think him
hot-tempered, for this made them fear and respect him.