"Wilt thou cry now already, so that the tears may be spared thee in wedlock?" asked the Greek.
Friderun made a serious face, and the ungracious mouth assumed a very sorrowful expression, so that Praxedis had some difficulty in restraining a laugh.
"I feel so depressed," said the bride of the Hun.
"And what is depressing thee, future rival of the pine-trees on the Stoffler-mountain?"
"I am afraid that the young men will play me some trick, because I marry a foreigner. When the convent-farmer of the Schlangenhof, brought home the old widow from Bregenz wood, they went to his house on the wedding-night, and with bull's horns, brass kettles and sea-shells made such a terrible noise, as if a hail-storm was to be frightened away; and when the miller of Rielasingen came out of the house, on the first morning after his marriage, they had put a dry and withered May-pole before his door, and instead of flowers and ribbons, a wisp of straw and a ragged apron, hang from it."
"Be sensible," said Praxedis, soothingly.
But Friderun would not take comfort, and dolefully went on, "and what, if they should treat me, like the gamekeeper's widow, when she married the apprentice boy? Her roof was cut intwain during the night, so that one half fell down to the right and one to the left; and the starry sky shone into their marriage-bed; and the rooks flew about their heads, without their knowing why and wherefore."
Praxedis laughed. "I hope that thou hast got a good conscience, Friderun?" said she significantly; but Friderun was now very nearly crying.
"And who knows," said she evasively, "what my Cappan ..."
"Paul," Praxedis corrected her.