“Counsel may here be had,” said the Count; “I have no son, and will of yours, if you will give him me, make a knight—my castle will some of these days be empty—no robust son bears my arms.”
“Dear mother!” said the boy, “if the castle of the aged man is empty, I can surely, when I am big, go thither?”
“And leave me here alone?” said the mother.
“No, you will also go!” said the boy warmly; “How beautiful is it to look from the height of a castle into the valley beneath!”
“He has a true knightly mind,” said the Count; “is he born here in the valley?”
“Prayer and labour,” said the mother, “is God’s command, and they are better than all the knightly honours that you can promise the boy—he will, like his father, cultivate the vine, and trust to the blessing of God, who rain and sunshine gives: knights sit in their castles and know not how much labour, yet how much blessing and peace can dwell in a poor man’s hut! My husband was oppressed with heavy sorrow; alas! on my account was his heartfelt grief; but since he found this hut, and works here, he is much more cheerful than formerly; from the tempest of life he has entered the harbour of peace—patiently he bears the heat of the day, and when I pity him he says, 'Wife, I am indeed now happy;' yet frequently a troubled thought appears to pierce his soul—I watch him narrowly—a tear then steals down his brown cheeks. Ah! surely he thinks of the place of his birth—of a now very aged grey father—and whilst I see you, a tear also comes to me—so is perhaps now—”
At this minute, the little girl interrupted her, pulled her gently by the gown, and spoke—
“Mother! come into the kitchen; our father will soon be home.”
“You are right,” said the mother, leaving the room; “in conversation I forget myself.”
In deep meditation the aged Count sat and thought, “Where may, then, this night my son sleep ....?”