Mamselle Lovisa laid the miserable little twigs in water to freshen them a bit, and worked far into the night on the wreath and crown. It looked a hopeless task, but she made the best of it. In the morning she quietly slipped out to the woods, but returned as she had gone—empty handed. Passing through the kitchen to her room she averred that never had she had such difficulty trying to bind a pretty bridal-crown. The maids felt sorry for her, and offered to run to still other cottages to beg myrtle.
“No, thank you,” she said, “it’s too late now. The bride and groom may be here at any moment.”
She went into her room and stuck a few more leaves into the crown and wreath where they were the barest, then showed her work to the housekeeper and the maids.
“How in the world did you do it, Mamselle Lovisa!” one exclaimed. “Why, that wreath and crown are just as pretty as those you usually make, though ’twas mostly bare sprigs and black leaves you had.”
Mamselle Lovisa then explained that she had freshened the leaves in water, it was only smoke and dust that had blackened them.
Shortly afterwards the bridal pair arrived. The bride was decked in Mamselle Lovisa’s room. Though no longer young, the woman had a good and pleasing appearance. When she was all ready Mamselle Lovisa conducted her into the parlour, that she might view herself in the large mirror. And she was delighted.
“I never would have thought I could look that well!” she said. Then she took out a bottle of cologne and a pretty box—gifts from the groom. The box was filled with small candies, loaf-sugar, raisins, and lozenges. These she passed round—first to Mamselle Lovisa, then to the others. All had to dab themselves with a few drops of the cologne and take a piece of candy or a raisin from the box. She looked more pleased and happy than the young brides usually did, and every one complimented her on her appearance.
In a few moments she and the bridegroom drove off to the parsonage to be married, and from there to the bride’s home, to celebrate.
For a time Kaisa Nilsdotter was very happy in her married life. Although her husband was much older than she, her respect for his learning was so great that she took special pride in ministering to his comfort and in making him a pleasant home. Then a rumour got afloat. It must have been started by some person at Mårbacka; but who the author was none could say. At all events, it travelled round the whole parish. At last some kind friend no doubt whispered it into the ear of Kaisa Nilsdotter.
“Mamselle Lovisa Lagerlöf bound your bridal-crown with whortleberry green.”