“Ah, yes, I talk too much. You need not remember all I have said, only when any thing occurs you may be reminded of it. But, my son, you know that I have never vexed you with questions; but now, open your heart to me, and tell me what happened last year at the wedding, in Endringen, when you came home like one bewitched, and have not been like yourself since. Tell me, perhaps I can help you.”
“Oh, mother, that you cannot; but I will tell you. I saw one there, who would have been the right one, but after all she was the wrong one.”
“Ah, God forbid! you did not fall in love with a married woman?”
“No—but she was yet the wrong one—why should I say much about it—she was a servant!”
He breathed heavily, and the mother and son were for some moments silent. At length, his mother laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said, “Oh, my son, you are brave, and I thank God who has made you so. You have done bravely to drive her out of your mind. Your father never would have consented, and you would have lost a father’s blessing.”
“No, mother, I will not make myself out better than I am. It did not please me that she was a servant. It would not do, and therefore I came away. But it has been harder to forget her than I could have believed. But it is all over now—or it must be all over. I have promised myself, that I will not inquire after her. I will not ask who she is, or where she is. I will bring you, God willing, a farmer’s daughter.”
“You acted honorably with the young girl? You did not turn her head?”
“Mother! I give you my hand—I have nothing to reproach myself with.”
“I believe you,” she said, and pressed his hand many times. “Now good fortune, and my blessing go with you.”
The son mounted his horse, and the mother looking after him cried,—“Hold, I have something more to say. I have forgotten the best sign.”