“Yes,” said I; “where we will settle down in some forest, and conjugate the verb siriel conjugally.”
“Conjugally?” said Belle.
“Yes,” said I; “as man and wife in America, air yew ghin.”
“You are jesting, as usual,” said Belle.
“Not I, indeed. Come, Belle, make up your mind, and let us be off to America; and leave priests, humbug, learning, and languages behind us.”
“I don’t think you are jesting,” said Belle; “but I can hardly entertain your offers; however, young man, I thank you.”
“You had better make up your mind at once,” said I, “and let us be off. I shan’t make a bad husband, I assure you. Perhaps you think I am not worthy of you? To convince you, Belle, that I am, I am ready to try a fall with you this moment upon the grass. Brynhilda, the valkyrie, swore that no one should ever marry her who could not fling her down. Perhaps you have done the same. The man who eventually married her, got a friend of his, who was called Sygurd, the serpent-killer, to wrestle with her, disguising him in his own armour. Sygurd flung her down, and won her for his friend, though he loved her himself. I shall not use a similar deceit, nor employ Jasper Petulengro to personate me—so get up, Belle, and I will do my best to fling you down.”
“I require no such thing of you, or anybody,” said Belle; “you are beginning to look rather wild.”
“I every now and then do,” said I; “come, Belle, what do you say?”
“I will say nothing at present on the subject,” said Belle, “I must have time to consider.”