“Thank you, swelled-cheeks,” cried Amrie after he had gone, “you have become a mask for me; under your disguise I can speak to him as they do in the carnival, without being known.”
It was wonderful how this inward joy had driven away the fever; she felt weary, inexpressibly weary, and it was with mingled pleasure and sorrow that she saw one of the servants getting ready the Berner wagon, and heard that the farmer was going away directly with the stranger. She went into the kitchen, and there heard the farmer in the next room say, “If you are going to ride, John, Rose can go with me in the chaise, and you can ride by the side.”
“Will not your wife go with us?” asked John, after a pause.
“I have an infant to nurse, and cannot leave it,” said the wife.
“Nor do I like to go driving round the country on a week-day,” said Rose.
“Oh, nonsense! When a cousin is here, you may surely make a holiday,” urged the farmer. He wished John to be seen with Rose as they passed by Farmer Furchils, that he might not cherish any hope for one of his daughters; at the same time, he knew that a little excursion in the country would bring the young people more together than a whole week spent in the house. John was silent, and the farmer in his anxiety touched his shoulder and said, in an undertone, “Speak to her. If you ask her, she will go.”
“I think,” said John, aloud, “that your sister is right, not to go driving about the country upon a week-day. I will put my horse with yours into the wagon, and we can see how they will go together, and by supper-time we shall return, if not before.”
Barefoot, who heard all this, bit her lips to keep from smiling at what John said. Ah, she thought, you have not yet put on the halter, to say nothing of the bridle, by which you would be led away, no more to return. She was obliged to take the band from her face; joy made her so warm.
This was a strange day in the house. Rose related, half pettishly, the curious questions John had asked her, and Amrie secretly rejoiced; all that he wished to know was of things which she could have answered for in herself. But of what use was all this? He did know her, and if he should inquire about her, she was only a poor orphan and a servant, and nothing could come from such circumstances. “He does not know thee,” she said sighing, “and he will not ask.”
In the morning when they both returned, Amrie had taken the cloth from her brow, although her chin and temple still retained the broad bandage.