“I am not laughing,” Rose declared. “Once in a life you shall dance, for you are also a young girl, and there will be some of your condition there. Our stable-boy is going, and some peasant’s son will dance with you. I will see that you have a partner.”
“Leave me in peace,” said Amrie, still kneeling, “or I will prick you.”
“Rose is right,” exclaimed the farmer’s wife, who had till now been silent; “I will never say a good word for you again, if you do not consent to go to this dance. Come, sit down, and I, for once, will be your dressing-maid.”
Crimson blushes succeeded each other over Barefoot’s face, as she sat there, served by her mistress; and when she turned her hair back from her forehead, she felt as though she should sink down for shame. Her mistress said, “I will dress your hair as the Algäuer girls wear it. That will be very becoming to you, for you look like an Algäuer—so plump and brown. Yes, you look like one of the daughters of Farmer Landfried of Zusmarshofen.”
“Why so! How like her?” asked Barefoot; and her whole frame trembled. Why was it that she should just now be reminded of this friend that, from a child, she had never forgotten; and who, from that time, had remained in her memory like a benevolent fairy in a fairy tale. She had no ring that she could turn to make her appear. In her mind only could she conjure her hither, and that only involuntarily.
“Keep quiet, or I shall pull thy hair,” said her mistress. Barefoot sat motionless,—scarcely breathing. As she sat there with her hands pressed together, and her mistress sometimes bending over her, she felt her warm breath on her face—she seemed to herself as though she were suddenly enchanted. She said not a word, and sank her glances humbly to the ground, lest she should scare away the enchantment.
“Would that I could dress you thus for your own wedding,” said her mistress, who to-day overflowed with benevolence. “I would give thee a right honest farmer, and no one would be taken in by thee. But now-a-days things do not happen thus. Money runs after money. However, do not be discouraged; as long as I live, you shall want for nothing; and if I should die—for I have sad thoughts when I think of my heavy hour—promise that you will never leave my children, but be a mother to them.”
“Oh, Heavens! how can you have such thoughts?” cried Barefoot, and tears ran down her cheeks. “It is a sin! for it is sinful to allow bad thoughts to come into one’s mind.”
“Yes, yes! you are right,” said her mistress. “But wait—sit still! I will fetch my necklace. You must wear that on your neck.”
“Oh, no, no! I can wear nothing which is not my own. I should sink to the earth with shame.”