Forgiveness -- Fiction; Guilt -- Fiction; Love -- Fiction
"Well, and so I've been so little in your thoughts that you didn't even
remember how I look."
"Be quiet; I thought of you always. What sort of eyes has the child?"
"Bright and clear ones, and there's never been anything the matter with
them."
Walpurga wanted to know what color its eyes were, and whether their
color had changed, as had been the case with the prince. But Hansei did
not know, and was quite vexed that his wife asked him questions about
matters that he knew nothing of.
At last they mounted the wagon.
It drove by the palace, and, in spite of the rattling of the wheels
over the stones, it seemed to Walpurga as if she could hear the prince
crying.
"I, too, must wean myself," said Walpurga, weeping silently.
As soon as they had passed the city gates, Hansei began abusing the
court. "They might have sent us home in a coach; but that's the way
with them. They'd rather fetch our wives than take 'em back again."
Whenever he said anything, he would look about as if his boon
companions were present to nod their approval. "They might have let us
have a pair of horses at least; indeed, they ought to have told us to
keep them, for they've got more than they know what to do with, in the
royal stables," said he.
Walpurga had so often told every one that her husband was coming to
take her home in a wagon, that no arrangements had been made for that
purpose; and now when Hansei grumbled at their want of consideration,
she remembered her mistake and, without confessing it, endeavored to
quiet him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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