"At any rate, he has been one of the best of husbands, and most honest of men, ever since he married; and their little cottage at Rinn is the scene of perfect happiness—"
"There is a touch of romance in him, still, however. Franz told me just now, as we returned from mass, that on their road yesterday, through thunder and lightning, Speckbacher gave him such wonderful descriptions of the salt caverns near Halle, that it seemed like a fairy tale."
"Very likely," said Theresa. "I have heard him speak of them to my father, and say how he should delight to take him through them. My father liked the idea, but I confess it would make me shudder. All sunlight is excluded; you begin by plunging down three hundred steps that seem as though conducting you to the very centre of the earth; the red light of your torch falls on murky subterranean lakes, beneath towering walls of sparkling salt. How horrible, should one fall into one of those lakes! Speckbacher says there are no fewer than forty-eight caverns, and that some of the galleries connecting them are three leagues in length. He called it a capital place for hide and seek."
"Aye, or for storing brandy, as that scamp Franz said," muttered Rudolf.
"Much obliged," said Franz, sauntering up. "Hope I'm no interruption."
"None at all," said Rudolf, watching his trout.
"Listeners never hear good of themselves," said Theresa tartly.
"I didn't know you were talking secrets, or I wouldn't have intruded," said Franz, throwing himself on the grass. "So I'm a scamp, am I?"
"Well, I'm sorry I used the word, and that's truth," said the good-natured Rudolf.
"I suppose you think it, though," said Franz, jerking a stone into the river.