“Yes, married!”
“Why, who is her husband?”
“Surely you know that. She is the blacksmith's wife.”
“I thought she was his daughter.”
“No, she is his wife. Do you think I am lying to you?”
I had not thought about it at all; I was simply astonished. I just stood there thinking: Is Eva married?
“So you have made a happy choice,” says Edwarda.
Well, there seemed no end to the business. I was trembling with indignation, and I said:
“But you had better take the Doctor, as I said. Take a friend's advice; that prince of yours is an old fool.” And in my excitement I lied about him, exaggerated his age, declared he was bald, that he was almost totally blind; I asserted, moreover, that he wore that coronet thing in his shirt front wholly and solely to show off his nobility. “As for me, I have not cared to make his acquaintance, there is nothing in him of mark at all; he lacks the first principles; he is nothing.”
“But he is something, he is something,” she cried, and her voice broke with anger. “He is far more than you think, you thing of the woods. You wait. Oh, he shall talk to you—I will ask him myself. You don't believe I love him, but you shall see you are mistaken. I will marry him; I will think of him night and day. Mark what I say: I love him. Let Eva come if she likes—hahaha! Heavens, let her come—it is less than nothing to me. And now let me get away from here...”