"How it roars and crashes!"
and Fritz Triddlesitz ran for the dinner-bell, which hung in the door-way, and played a storm, and Bräsig waved the flag, and the men and women, and servants and maids, and boys and girls shouted "Vivat!" and "Hurrah!" and David Däsel blew on his horn: "The Prussians have taken Paris, good times are coming now, toot! toot! toot!" and it was all so festive that no dog could help howling, and at the last "toot!" out sprang the old watch-dog, which Gust Kegel had mischievously unfastened, so that he might enjoy himself with the rest, and made straight for David Däsel's legs, and the two brown coach-dogs also began to sniff and howl in such a singular manner that it was really a piece of good fortune that Degel the coachman had his reins well in hand, and was prepared for emergencies.
As it was, all passed off well, and the carriage soon arrived safely at the manor-house, and Axel lifted out his lovely young bride. Inside the house, there was the same preparation and adornment, with flowers and greens, as outside, and among the wreaths and garlands, Marie Möller in a new red jaconet dress, with a fiery red face, moved her fiery red arms hither and thither, and when she had cooled off a little among the greens, ran back into the kitchen, to the cooking stove, as if she were a flatiron-heater, which must be kept constantly red-hot,--and when the gracious young lady stepped across the threshold, she came towards her, with her fiery arms outspread, as if she were a priestess of Moloch, and placed a wreath of bright red roses on the young lady's head, and then, falling back a couple of paces, and gesticulating with the fiery arm, as if striking out brilliant flames, she repeated a verse, which she had been learning for the last three months, under Bräsig's tuition,--
"Hail, beauteous lady, sweet and bright,
Accomplished, virtuous, wise and bland,
Deign to accept this offering slight,
From your devoted, humble servant's hand."
And when she had said her lesson, she threw wide open the door of the dining-room, and there stood a table spread for dinner, in good season, for it was high noon, and Axel said a word or two to his wife, and she nodded in a pleased way under her wreath of roses, and turned to the old inspector: he must be her guest today, and also the schoolmaster, and the young farmer, and would the old gentleman who had waved the flag honor them with his company also? Then she went to Marie Möller, and thanked her for her fine speech and all that she had done to welcome them, and would she have time to enjoy with them the nice things she had prepared? And Marie Möller became as red with delight as if there were a cooking stove in her heart, filled with glowing coals.
Of before long, they all came in. Habermann brought up Bräsig, and introduced him as his old friend of many years' standing, who had also been well acquainted with the late Herr Kammerrath, and would by no means be found wanting in taking his part in the rejoicing at Pumpelhagen. And Bräsig went to Axel, and got hold of his hand, will he, nill he, and squeezed it, and, shaking his head back and forth, assured him of his friendship for life and death: "Herr Lieutenant, very dear and welcome, as I just said to Karl, how glad I shall be if you only take after your good father!" And then he turned to the young lady: "Gracious Frau Lieutenant," and fumbled after her hand, which he succeeded in grasping, and it looked as if he intended to kiss it; but he held it for moment, and then said, "No! not that! I always kissed the hand of my gracious countess, and it was proper, as a token of service; I will not take that liberty, you are so lovely to look at; but if you ever need an old man's service--my name is Zachary Bräsig--just send for me,--a short mile from here--Haunerwiem,--and the day shall not be too hot for me, or the night too dark."
Bräsig's speeches were peculiar things; honest folks have a way of talking right out of their hearts, without thinking, at the moment, how they will be understood. Axel did not take it as it was meant. That such an one as Inspector Bräsig should presume to hold up an example to him,--even if it were his own father, to whom he was so deeply indebted,--did not suit him; he was put out of humor. Frida, who went to the heart of every thing, took the old inspector's speech in her hand, like an onion, and shredded off the old, dry skins, one after another, and found a bright, hard kernel inside, and, as she cut it across, there was such a sound heart disclosed that she took the old fellow by the hand, and made him sit next to her at table.