She asked Lenka to move and live with her. Mrs. Roubínek, having lost her husband, at first opposed this proposition, more in appearance than in reality, but finally she consented; for Lenka was somewhat of a relative of Miss Elis’, anyway. So Lenka began a new life, the kind, old lady became a mother to her.
After vacation Frýbort came with his father and asked for Márinka’s hand. The landlady had dreamed of a doctor, it is true, but Frýbort chose rather a large, fine farm in golden Haná, and Márinka also did not object to marrying an educated farmer.
“You loved a philosopher and an officer, will you also love a farmer?”
For reply she embraced him. * Now the letters from Moravia came directly to Márinka’s address; Miss Elis got letters only from Prague and these in reality belonged to Lenka. They were sent by Vojtěch Vavřena, medicinae studiosus. He had escaped all trials and so could pursue his studies.
Zelenka did not write.
“I knew that as soon as he left, he would forget us” said Miss Elis.
Next year, before Lent, Frýbort, with a numerous Hanák suite came for Márinka, to carry her away as his beloved wife. Vavřena also came from Prague to be the best man, while Lenka was the bride’s maid. And when the wedding feast was at the gayest, the bridegroom being the jolliest of all, Vavřena stood up and raised his glass to the honored memory of the former friend and colleague, who died in the fateful struggle on the barricades. The bride cast her eyes down and Miss Elis’ were filled with tears.
CHAPTER XIII.
The year 1849 passed. The philosophical school of Litomyšl was abolished, the legion dispersed and its flag was destroyed. The pater rector himself tore it off its staff, which he then stuck in the Piarist’s garden by a gooseberry bush.
Mrs. Roller moved out of town to her relatives.
After five years, the ancient house in which Mis Elis lived was again the scene of gayety. Her dream was realized! Lenka’s longing was fulfilled. Doctor Vavřena was married, leading to the altar the priest’s niece. Their love was as fresh and true then, as when they met of a Sunday afternoon in the castle park. They had guests from as far as Moravia. Frýbort, happy and contended, came with Márinka, and smilingly said: “You were my best man, my friend, but I can not repay you that service, for that lttle cherub will not let me.” And he pointed to his three year old son.
Mrs. Roubínek, although invited, did not attend the wedding. Her handsome, rich daughter was still waiting for a very distinguished suitor, at least a doctor. But he had not yet come.
Miss Elis went to live with “her children,” and never regretted it. She related now oftener than ever how she had had fifty one philosophers in her rooms; fifty had attained positions of independence, the fifty-first had fallen on the barricades.
When she lived at Vavřena’s, she received a letter, for which she had to pay a whole twenty heller piece. What is that, who writes? It was Zelenka, who informed her that he was in the cloister of Medlice, where he had attained a very good living. “I need eat bread and fruit porridge no longer,” he wrote, among other things.
“I believe,” remarked Vavřena, “that he has fat, ruddy cheeks now, and is of respectable dimensions, and does not touch a book except the breviary.”
“And hoards crowns; he did not even prepay the letter.”
On Christmas, the first which the young doctor spent together with his little wife, he received a hearty letter from Frýbort, enclosed in which he found a large sheet. It was headed:
“Colleagues!”
“It is the first draft of the proclamation which we composed together before the celebration of the majales. I found it in the bottom of my student trunk. You will, no doubt, be glad to remember those times,” wrote Frýbort.
“I surely remember them gladly,” said Vavřena.” It was then that we found each other under the old tree; do you remember, Lenka? We also have a nest now, and it is pleasant and warm in it.” ***
The philosophical history is ended. It was written for the pleasant remembrance of the old, and for the enjoyment of the young; the author of this chronicle sincerely wishes and hopes that the pleasure will be plentiful.
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