“She was a giddy, foolish girl.  Now, I spend only ten soldi in one year on wax which I mix with goat’s grease, and there I have an excellent pomatum.”

“Another, whom I would have married two years ago, laboured under a disease which would have made me unhappy; as soon as I knew of it, I ceased my visits.”

“What disease was it?”

“A disease which would have prevented her from being a mother, and, if I get married, I wish to have children.”

“All that is in God’s hands, but I know that my health is excellent.  Is it not, uncle?”

“Another was too devout, and that does not suit me.  She was so over-scrupulous that she was in the habit of going to her confessor twice a week, and every time her confession lasted at least one hour.  I want my wife to be a good Christian, but not bigoted.”

“She must have been a great sinner, or else she was very foolish.  I confess only once a month, and get through everything in two minutes.  Is it not true, uncle? and if you were to ask me any questions, uncle, I should not know what more to say.”

“One young lady thought herself more learned than I, although she would, every minute, utter some absurdity.  Another was always low-spirited, and my wife must be cheerful.”

“Hark to that, uncle!  You and my mother are always chiding me for my cheerfulness.”

“Another, whom I did not court long, was always afraid of being alone with me, and if I gave her a kiss she would run and tell her mother.”

“How silly she must have been!  I have never yet listened to a lover, for we have only rude peasants in P——­, but I know very well that there are some things which I would not tell my mother.”

“One had a rank breath; another painted her face, and, indeed, almost every young girl is guilty of that fault.  I am afraid marriage is out of the question for me, because I want, for instance, my wife to have black eyes, and in our days almost every woman colours them by art; but I cannot be deceived, for I am a good judge.”

“Are mine black?”

“You are laughing?”

“I laugh because your eyes certainly appear to be black, but they are not so in reality.  Never mind, you are very charming in spite of that.”

“Now, that is amusing.  You pretend to be a good judge, yet you say that my eyes are dyed black.  My eyes, sir, whether beautiful or ugly, are now the same as God made them.  Is it not so, uncle?”

“I never had any doubt of it, my dear niece.”

“And you do not believe me, sir?”

“No, they are too beautiful for me to believe them natural.”

“Oh, dear me!  I cannot bear it.”

“Excuse me, my lovely damigella, I am afraid I have been too sincere.”

After that quarrel we remained silent.  The good curate smiled now and then, but his niece found it very hard to keep down her sorrow.