neighbours and gossips who, one after the other, had crept into the room to be witnesses of the betrothal. They would have expected anything rather than such a development. There had been but one opinion for years on the whole mountainside that no two people had ever been made for each other as Lukas Paloucky and Vendulka Paloucky were. The village had been full of the tale of their unhappy love affair, of the admirable faithfulness of the girl, the deep grief of her lover who had been yoked to another woman. Every one rejoiced and was glad for their sakes that they should come together after all. Their marriage was being looked forward to with the pleasantest anticipation, as though it were a great festival. And here was the Moper, saying incomprehensible things! But the villagers soon regained their usual balance of mind. They looked at each other as much as to say: ‘We know him; it is an old story that he spoils every game.’ Lukas, however, was not satisfied, and repeatedly pressed the old man, saying: ‘If you do not advise the marriage, you must have a reason. Do you think Vendulka cares less about me now?’
‘Don’t talk nonsense. You know very well that she has had eyes and heart only for
