But the excellent maiden, by words of such irony wounded,
(As she esteem’d them to be) and deeply distress’d in her spirit,
Stood, while a passing flush from her cheeks as far as her neck was
Spreading, but she restrain’d herself, and collected her thoughts soon;
Then to the old man she said, not fully concealing her sorrow
“Truly I was not prepared by your son for such a reception,
When he described his father’s nature,—­that excellent burgher,
And I know I am standing before you, a person of culture,
Who behaves himself wisely to all, in a suitable manner. 
But it would seem that you feel not pity enough for the poor thing
Who has just cross’d your threshold, prepared to enter your service
Else you would not seek to point out, with ridicule bitter,
How far removed my lot from your son’s and that of yourself is. 
True, with a little bundle, and poor, I have enter’d your dwelling,
Which it is the owner’s delight to furnish with all things. 
But I know myself well, and feel the whole situation. 
Is it generous thus to greet me with language so jeering,
Which was well nigh expelled me the house, when just on the threshold?”

Hermann uneasily moved about, and signed to the pastor
To interpose without delay, and clear up the error. 
Quickly the wise man advanced to the spot, and witness’d the maiden’s
Silent vexation and tearful eyes and scarce-restrain’d sorrow. 
Then his spirit advised him to solve not at once the confusion,
But, on the contrary, prove the excited mind of the maiden. 
So, in words framed to try her, the pastor address’d her as follows:—­
“Surely, my foreign maiden, you did not fully consider,
When you made up your mind to serve a stranger so quickly,
What it really is to enter the house of a master;
For a shake of the hand decides your fate for a twelvemonth,
And a single word Yes to much endurance will bind you. 
But the worst part of the service is not the wearisome habits,
Nor the bitter toil of the work, which seems never-ending;
For the active freeman works hard as well as the servant. 
But to suffer the whims of the master, who blames you unjustly,
Or who calls for this and for that, not knowing his own mind,
And the mistress’s violence, always so easily kindled,
With the children’s rough and supercilious bad manners,—­
This is indeed hard to bear, whilst still fulfilling your duties
Promptly and actively, never becoming morose or ill-natured;
Yet for such work you appear little fit, for already the father’s
Jokes have offended you deeply; yet nothing more commonly happens
Than to tease a maiden about her liking a youngster.” 
Thus he spoke, and the maiden felt the weight of his language,
And no more restrain’d herself; mightily all her emotions
Show’d themselves, her bosom heaved, and a deep sigh escaped her,
And whilst shedding burning tears, she answer’d