The interchange of looks was presently followed by words.  It was the lady who broke the ice by alluding to a somewhat peculiar incident.  It happened to be market day, and Wilhelm had been watching with interest the cheerful bustle in the High Street, and the new type of country people:  the men with their carts bringing in calves, pigs, and grain, fine-looking fellows, with tall sturdy figures, and shrewd, clean-shaven faces above the blue cotton white-embroidered blouses and severely stiff snow-white shirt collars; and the women in round dark-brown cloaks reaching to their feet; the drum-beating, yelling tooth-drawers and patent medicine venders praising their remedies against tapeworm and ague with incredible volubility, and the couple of majestic gendarmes in their imposing uniforms, with yellow leather belts and cocked hats, who found no occasion to exhibit their stern official side to the noisy, laughing, but well-behaved crowd.  After strolling for awhile among the carts and people, Wilhelm had caught sight of a large and handsome donkey, had gone up to him and stroked him, and said a variety of friendly things to him.

At dinner, noting that his neighbor was looking about in search of something, he asked politely: 

“Madame is in want of something?”

“The water, if you please,” said she.

He handed her the carafe, which was out of her reach; she thanked him, and, not to let the conversation drop, added with a pleasant smile: 

“Monsieur seems fond of donkeys?”

“Indeed!” He answered, surprised.

“I saw you this morning patting and stroking a splendid donkey.”

He had not thought of it again.

“Yes, now I remember,” he answered, “it was a charming beast, with wonderfully wise, thoughtful eyes.”

“Do you think so too?” she cried, delighted.  “You must know, I have a special weakness for donkeys, and consider that, next to dogs they are by far the most intelligent of our domestic animals.  They have such a look of profound wisdom, such stoical philosophy and resignation, that I feel they are quite a lesson to me.”

Wilhelm could not repress a smile at her lively tone.

“I should like to think,” he said, “that our agreeing in a good opinion of the donkey is a sign that the ungrateful world has at last come to a proper appreciation of this ugly fellow-laborer.”

“Ugly?” she exclaimed.  “I don’t think so at all!  Look at his delicate hoofs, his elegantly-tufted tail, the soft, silvery gray of his coat with the velvety, black markings, and his ears are very becoming to him.  It is such an injustice always to compare him with the horse.  He is altogether a different type, but quite as handsome in his way.”

“Then you would whitewash Titania in ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream?’”

She laughed “Well, Titania might have done worse.  But how is it that the donkey has come to be the symbol of stupidity?”