A week later was Joseph's wedding. It was a merry time. Christina sat at the head of the table, beside her son Ivo, who was and remained the pride of the family. Ivo danced a figure with his sister-in-law, and another with Emmerence. She was overjoyed, and said, "So we've had a dance together: who knows whether we shall ever have another?"
Ivo's second brother now brought his sweetheart to him, and said, "Dance together." When they had done so, his mother came to him and said, "Why, you dance splendidly! Where did you learn it?"
"I never forgot it: the spin-wife used to teach me, you remember, in the twilight."
"Shall we try it?"
"Yes, mother."
All the others stopped to see Ivo dance with his mother. Valentine rose, snapped his fingers, and cried,--
"Gentlemen, play a national for me, and I'll send an extra bottle. Come, old girl!"
He took his wife by the arm, skipped and jumped,
and danced the old national dance, now wellnigh forgotten: he smacked his tongue, struck his breast and his thighs, swayed himself on his toes and his heels alternately, and executed all sorts of flourishes. Now he would hold his lady, now let her go, and trip round and round her with outstretched arms and loving gestures. Christina looked down modestly, but with manifest enjoyment, and turned round and round, almost without stirring from the spot on which she stood. Holding a corner of her apron in her hand, she slipped now under his right arm, now under his left, and sometimes they both turned under their uplifted arms. With a jump which shook the floor, Valentine concluded the dance.