“Would that God would give me what I now wish,” said his master, “and I would ask for nothing more in the world. Here have I lived thirty years like a hermit or a criminal, and yet I have never willingly hurt any one, and my soul is free from sin, but my eyes, my eyes!”
His countenance, which was so happy till now, became gloomy as usual; but soon a smile appeared on his face, as hope once more chased away sorrow.
“Dear friend!” said he, and Stanislas looked at him, “maybe I shall marry.”
“Heaven help us!” cried the old servant. “But where then is your future bride?”
The master rose from his chair, walked on tiptoe to the side-door, which led to the chambers where slept the travellers, and, pointing to the door, said—
“There.”
Stanislas nodded his head, as if he approved of his master’s choice, and cheerfully put some wood upon the fire. His master went back to his room in deep thought, and the old servant mumbled to himself—
“Heaven grant it! But pears don’t grow on willow-trees.”
And he was soon asleep.