As soon as they were out of doors Hawermann asked “I say, Braesig, how could you speak of the old people in such a way before their son?” “He’s quite accustomed to it, Charles.  No one has a good word for the two old misers, they’ve quarreled with all the neighbors, and as for the servants, they take very good care to keep out of the old wretches’ sight.”  “My poor sister!” sighed Hawermann; “she used to be such a merry light-hearted girl, and now, shut up in a house with such people, and such a Nuss (slow) of a man.”  “You’re right enough there, Charles, he is an old Nuss, and Nuessler (slow-coach) is his name; but he never bullies your sister, and although he is such an ass that he can manage nothing himself, he has sense enough to see that your sister is quite able to keep everything straight.”  “Poor girl!  She married that man for my sake, to make my way easier for me, she said; and for our old mother’s sake, to give her a comfortable home with one of her children in her latter days.”  “I know, I know, Charles.  I know it from my own experience.  Don’t you remember it was during the rye-harvest, and you said to me, Zachariah, you said, you must be in love, for you’re leading in your rye quite wet.  And I said; how so?  On the Sunday before that we had had spruce-beer, and your sister was one of the party, or else I shouldn’t have led in the rye in such weather.  And then I told you that if I didn’t change my mind your sister was the only one of my three sweethearts that I’d marry.  Then you laughed heartily, and said, she was too young.  What has being young to do with it?  I asked.  And then you said that my other two sweethearts came first, and so they ought to have the preference.  And then you laughed again, and didn’t seem to believe that I was in earnest.  A short time afterward my lord the Count changed his mind, and said he wouldn’t have a married bailiff.  And then a little more time passed, and it was too late.  Young Joseph made her an offer, and your mother begged her so hard to take him, that she consented.  Ah well, that marriage ought never to have been,” and Braesig looked down gravely.  After a moment’s silence he went on—­“When I saw the twins I felt drawn to them, and thought that they might have been my own, and I almost wished that the old woman, old Joseph, and young Joseph were in their graves.  It was indeed a happy day for the old Jesuits when your sister brought her loving heart and cheerful nature into their house, if it had been any one else there would have been murder done long ago.”

While they were talking they had left the village behind them, and were now beside the large garden.  Suddenly Hawermann exclaimed:  “Look there, the two old people are on the top of the hill yonder.”  “Yes,” said Braesig with a derisive chuckle, “there they are, the hypocritical old Jesuits, standing in their hiding-place.”  “Hiding-place?” asked Hawermann, astonished.  “Up there on the hill?” “Even so, Charles, the old