"Heavens and earth!" said Simmen.
Fausch did not pause in his work. Only once he looked quickly, almost secretly at the lad who was approaching.
"That's a fine looking boy of yours, Fausch," Simmen went on.
The smith muttered something or other. As he kept on driving nails into the horseshoe, no one would have suspected that his breath was coming faster and that Simmen's praise had aroused in him a wild joy, that seemed to be set free for the first time. Just so--with his heart beating stormily--had he gone to see Maria, in the old days when they had given their promise to each other.
Cain now reached the workshop, and said, as he passed, "Good morning!"
"Good morning!" answered Simmen, and turned to Fausch: "What is the boy's name?"
The smith looked up with a sullen expression and was so slow in answering, that it seemed as if he first had to recollect himself, and then as if the words stuck in his throat: "The boy's name is Franz." At this very moment his stubbornness almost got the upper hand of him, and as Cain, who had carried the milk to the house, came quickly back, Fausch's hands itched to take hold of him, and show him to the landlord and say: "His name is Cain. I chose and I still choose that he should bear that name." The inner conflict in Stephen Fausch was not yet ended.
From the tavern, a voice now called to the landlord, just as Fausch was finishing his work. Simmen started to go, but the girl who had called him came out in front of the tavern, looked over toward him and then walked toward the shop, as if she were curious; so then the landlord beckoned her to come over to them.
"I want you to see my child, smith," said he, "the only one, and a tardy blossom. It had seemed as if the house would always be empty." He put his arm around the shoulders of the fifteen-year-old girl, who had approached, and pushed her toward Fausch.
The stable boy was now leading the two horses away. Just then Cain came to call Fausch to breakfast.