“Congratulate me above all, my beautiful betrothed,” said Herr Ebenstreit, in a hoarse, scarcely intelligible voice. “This title crowns all my wishes, as it makes me your husband. I came to beg, dear Marie, that our marriage should take place to-morrow, as there is nothing now to prevent.”
“Sir,” she proudly interrupted him, “have I ever permitted this familiar appellation?”
“I have allowed it,” blurted out the general, packed in cushions in his roiling chair. “Proceed, my dear son.”
The latter bowed with a grateful smile, and continued: “I would beg, my dear Marie, to choose whether our wedding-journey shall be in the direction of Italy, Spain, France, or wherever else it may please her.”
“Is it thus arranged?” asked Marie. “Is the marriage to take place early to-morrow, and then the happy pair take a journey?”
“Yes,” answered her mother, hastily, “it is so decided upon, and it will be carried out. You may naturally, my dear daughter, have some preference; so make it known—I am sure your betrothed will joyfully accord it.”
“I will avail myself of this permission,” she quietly answered. “I wish to have a private conversation with this gentleman immediately, and without witnesses.”
“Oh, how unfortunate I am!” sighed Herr Ebenstreit. “My dear Marie asks just that which I unfortunately cannot grant her.”
“What should prevent your fulfilling my wish?” asked Marie.
“My promise,” he whined. “On the very day of my betrothal, I was obliged to promise my dear mother-in-law never to speak with you alone or correspond with my sweet lady-love.”