"Well, well," said Anne, "I will detest and hate thee more than any of them, unless you bring your matters to an end." "Softly, noble lady, fair and easy go far. All this argues you love the young man, and let those say that you are wrong who think there is anything wonderful in the matter. There is much to justify you, and nothing that I know against it." "What, foolish girl! Remember my birth forbids me to love a mean man--my condition to love a poor man--my father's commands to love one whose addresses are without his consent--above all, my maidenly pride forbids me fixing my affections on one who cares not for me--nay, perhaps, is prejudiced against me by appearances." "Here is a fine homily!" said Annette; "but I can clear every point of it as easily as Father Francis does his text in a holiday sermon. Your birth is a silly dream, which you have only learned to value within these two or three days, when, having come to German soil, some of the old German weed, usually called family pride, has begun to germinate in your heart. Think of such folly as you thought when you lived at Geierstein--that is, during all the rational part of your life, and this great terrible prejudice will sink into nothing. By condition, I conceive you mean estate. But Philipson's father, who is the most free-hearted of men, will surely give his son as many zechins as will stock a mountain farm. You have firewood for the cutting, and land for the occupying, since you are surely entitled to part of Geierstein, and gladly will your uncle put you in possession of it. You can manage the dairy, Arthur can shoot, hunt, fish, plough, harrow, and reap." Anne of Geierstein shook her head, as if she greatly doubted her lover's skill in the last of the accomplishments enumerated. "Well, well, he can learn, then," said Annette Veilchen; "and you will only live the harder the first year or so. Besides, Sigismund Biederman will aid him willingly, and he is a very horse at labour; and I know another besides, who is a friend"---- "Of thine own, I warrant," quoth the young Baroness. "Marry, it is my poor friend Louis Sprenger; and I'll never be so false-hearted as to deny my bachelor." "Well, well, but what is to be the end of all this?" said the Baroness, impatiently. "The end of it, in my opinion," said Annette, "is very simple. Here are priests and prayer-books within a mile--go down to the parlour, speak your mind to your lover, or hear him speak his mind to you; join hands, go quietly back to Geierstein in the character of man and wife, and get everything ready to receive your uncle on his return. This is the way that a plain Swiss wench would cut off the romance of a German Baroness"---- "And break the heart of her father," said the young lady, with a sigh.