"It will be better, after all, if you write it down," said he; "I can never learn all that."
Fanny, smiling all the time, produced her writing materials and wrote a short letter, which she folded up, sealed, and gave to Boltay.
Mrs. Meyer cast a significant glance at the girl out of the corner of her eye, allowed herself to be lifted up into the cart; the whip cracked, and off they went.
Fanny remained looking after them for some time, and then with a cold, contemptuous expression, returned to her room, watered her flowers, fed her birds, and sang herself back into a good humour again.
On reaching town, Boltay dismounted at the first shop (he pretended he had some indispensable purchase to make), and bade the coachman take Mrs. Meyer to where she wanted to go. He would find his way to his house on foot, he said.
Not very long afterwards Mrs. Meyer found herself once more in the circle of her well-beloved. Abellino had just looked in, and the girls were wild to know how their mother had fared.
It took Mrs. Meyer a good couple of hours to tell them all about her happy adventure: how she had struggled, how much eloquence she had expended till she had compelled the girl to surrender. For the girl was frightfully modest, she said, and she had to make her believe that the gentleman really meant to make her his wife, and had said so all along.
Abellino, in his joy, could scarce restrain himself from embracing the duenna at intervals, during the course of her entertaining narrative, especially when she told him what a splendid picture she had drawn of him to Fanny.
Well, let us leave them all making merry together, and accompany Boltay homewards also. Teresa was already awaiting him in the doorway, for the coachman had arrived first, and told her he was coming. His first care was to give her the letter.