"You, perhaps, are not; but as for me, I am only a poor peasant girl."
"No, my love, you are much better than you think. Look there! the fairies have seen you, and they are beckoning you to go to them."
"But, then, tell me first what I am."
"You are a foundling; the old man and woman with whom you lived were not your parents. They stole you when you were an infant for your beauty and the rich clothes you wore."
"And you, who are you, gospod?"
"I?" said the young man, laughing. "I am Macic, the merry, the mischievous sprite. I have known you since a long time. I loved you from the first moment I saw you, and I always hoped that, 'as like matches with like,' you yourself might perhaps some day get to like me and marry me. Tell me, was I right?" said he, looking at her mischievously.
Jella told him he was a saucy fellow to speak so lightly about such a grave subject, but then—woman-like—she added that he was not wrong.
They were forthwith welcomed by the Vile with much glee, and, soon afterwards, their wedding was celebrated with great pomp and merriment.
"But what became of the old man and his wife?" asked an interested listener.
"They met with the punishment their curiosity deserved. They were found a long time afterwards locked up in an old disused burying-ground. They were both of them quite dead, for when they fainted at the terrible sights they saw, the vampires availed themselves of their helplessness to suck up the little blood there was in them."