“Oh mother! mother! do not mind what the planet says, my heart tells me that I ought to love and honour the man who takes me for his wife, and if I find no such man, or am sought after by none such, I will remain single all my life, and maintain myself by the work of my hands; will keep a joyful heart, and as sist and nurse you in your old age, as becomes a pious daughter. But, if the man of my choice should come, then, oh mother! bless him and me, that your child may be happy: and do not ask whether he be great, honoured, and rich, but whether he loves me and is beloved.”
“Love, my daughter, has but a scanty larder, and is not sufficient to live on.”
“But where it exists, mother, peace and content dwell, and convert into luxuries the meanest food.”
This inexhaustible subject kept the two females awake as long as the fiddles at the marriage feast were heard, and Mother Brigitta could not help suspecting that Mela’s equanimity, which, in the pride of youth and beauty, made her indifferent for riches, was supported
