“Yes! but you cannot go thus. Perhaps you have something of your own that you can wear.”
Barefoot related that she had once a necklace which she received when a child, from Madam Landfried; but to provide funds for Dami’s emigration, she had pledged it to the Sacristan’s widow.
Her mistress exacted a promise that she would not move, nor look at herself in the glass, till she came back, and hastened forth to reclaim the ornament, and herself became surety for the payment.
What timidity ran through the soul of Barefoot, as she sat there waiting. She, the servant, so humbly served—and, in fact, she sat as though enchanted. When she thought of the dance she trembled—she was treated so kindly; and who could tell that she might not be thrust out of the dance, with none to care for her, and all her outward ornaments and her inward pleasure be in vain. “No,” she said to herself, “if I have only that which I now enjoy, it is sufficient. If I must immediately undress and remain at home, I have still had the pleasure.”
Her mistress came in with the necklace in her hand. Praise of the ornament, and blame of the Sacristan’s widow, who could take such shameful interest from a poor girl, were strangely blended together. She promised herself to pay the pledge, and gradually deduct it from Barefoot’s wages.
Now, at last, she was permitted to look at herself. Her mistress held the glass before her, and from the expression of both there shone, as it were, a mutual hymn of joy.
“I do not know myself! I do not know myself!” cried Barefoot, pressing both hands upon her face. “Oh, that my mother could see me thus! But she will certainly bless you for being so good to me. Yes, from Heaven she will support you in your heavy hour. You need fear nothing.”
“Ah, a different face, not that melancholy one, must go to the dance,” said her mistress. “But it will come when you hear the music.”
“I think I hear it now,” said Barefoot. “Yes—listen—there it is.” In fact, there now came on through the village the leading wagon, covered with green branches, in which sat all the musicians. Raven Zacky stood up in the midst and blew a trumpet.
It was time to go, and all the village hastened after. Bernese chaises, with one horse and with two, from this village and from the neighborhood, passing through, were driven as though running for a wager. Rose sat on the front seat with her brother, while Barefoot went in the basket behind. As long as they were in the village she kept her eyes cast down; only when passing the house of her parents she looked up, as Mariann stood there to greet her. The old cock upon the wood-pile crowed, and the service-tree nodded a “God bless you, on the way.”