"I am not angry at him. How could I be? You know, aunt, that we were long uncertain whether he or I should go to New York, since he had less to keep him, and we thought it would do him good to get out among other people. Then he would have found Catherine, and he would surely have dealt just as I did; and who knows how everything would then have fitted itself in?" Aunt Ursul shook her large head. "Do not sin against yourself, Lambert," said she. "I have always found that, rightly weighed, everything had to come out just as it did come out, and with this we pause." "I, also, cannot conceive how it could have been different," replied Lambert. "As far as I can see, my hand has been little in this, and yet I might even surrender her could I thus bring Conrad back." "And I my two hands and my head in addition," said Aunt Ursul, "could I by that means bring it about that my four boys might enter the door alive. Lambert, Lambert! let me tell you, 'if' and 'but' are very fine things, but one must keep them away from him or he will get crazy over them. I have had experience of it in myself and in my old man." "But Conrad is not dead," said Lambert, "so all hope cannot be lost. I had also lost my head. I did not know what I said or did. He was without this already unhappy enough. Alas, aunt, I am also to blame. I would gladly tell him that. I would like to talk right into his heart. He has hitherto always been willing to listen to me. What do you advise, aunt?" "What should I advise?" said Aunt Ursul fretfully. "It is always the old story: First you set the world on its head, and then you come running and cry: 'What do you advise, aunt?' Am I God? Many times there seems to be need of it. No, Lambert, in that you are indeed right. Conrad is not yet dead, and so we need not throw away our guns into the grain-field. But it will not do to pour out the child with the water in which you have bathed it. To pour oil into the fire increases the blaze. Should you now go to Conrad it would not be well. You can't gather ripe figs from a thorn-bush. In due time one can pick roses, Lambert, in due time." Aunt Ursul repeated her last words several times as though she would thus help her inability to advise. "But time is pressing," said Lambert. "Who knows how soon we shall have the French here?--Perhaps to-morrow. My God! to-morrow should be our wedding day." He told his aunt what arrangement he had made with the minister.