"Have you anything against the boy himself, just as he really is," began Fausch without any preamble.
Now Simmen had slept the whole long night since yesterday's fit of anger, and in the morning his wife, who was quieter than he, and rather peaceable for all that she was so resolute, had interposed between him and the stubborn Vincenza to such good purpose that his anger had passed away. He listened to Fausch's question quietly, settled himself comfortably in his chair, and answered: "What should I have against him? On the contrary, he is handy, very useful and a confoundedly handsome fellow, only you must send him away, Fausch--it wouldn't suit me at all, what was beginning between my daughter and him, that--"
He said all this quietly, sometimes making a gesture to explain his words better. When he paused, Fausch began to speak. Simmen could not understand the first word that he spoke, he brought it out with so much difficulty, and only gradually did his speech become clearer and more connected.
"I--I--want to ask you," he began--"keep him here, my boy. I marked him with that name--so that everybody points at him. I--did him an injustice! Don't send him away for that. I--"
Fausch had to pause a moment. The sweat stood on his dark forehead. He passed his hand helplessly across it.
"Yes, yes," said Simmen meanwhile, "What you say is all very true, but--still he can't stay here, where he will see Vincenza every day--"
Fausch came nearer and interrupted the landlord. Still in the same broken and difficult way he went on: "You said yourself that the boy is all right. He ought to come into notice--I think."
At that Simmen laughed: "Only not for my girl--not for Vincenza! She can take her choice by and by--Smith--I tell you, down in Italy as well as on our side." His laugh turned into a smile. It had done him good to boast of his own property, while speaking of his daughter's prospects.
The smith looked about him almost timidly. It was strange to see such a self-willed man stand there helpless and confused. He laid one hand on the landlord's arm, and his hand was trembling. "I will give the boy up to you," said he. "If I go away from him altogether, it will soon be forgotten, what he was, and how it was when we were together. Believe me, Simmen. And then when I am gone you could lead him just as you want to. And by and by no one would ask any more what his name was, or where he came from--and if he does not turn out as you expect--you could send him away any time--you could--"
He stopped suddenly. Then he reached out his hand, because he could not find the right words, and his face blazed scarlet. It came over him that he was like a beggar. Simmen looked silently at the floor. He was a reasonable man, and he saw what his words cost the smith, indeed he hardly recognized him. And the boy was a good boy, one in whom you could take some pleasure--and--Simmen could not help it, that Vincenza's face seemed to come before his eyes. The girl's behavior did not seem as if the smith's boy meant merely a passing fancy to her.