given you
credit for having the courage to take such a wife."

"Courage! What do you mean by that?"

"No harm; but I would not have believed you had the presumption to take
such a wife."

"Presumption? What presumption is there in it?"

Petrovitsch smiled, and made no answer.

"You know her, uncle. She is frugal and orderly and comes of an honest
house."

"That is not my meaning. It is presumption in you to think that in your
solitary house on the Morgenhalde you can make up to a girl who has
spent the twenty-two years of her life in an inn for a room full of
flattering guests. It is presumption to want to keep to yourself a
woman who can manage a whole hotel full. A wise man does not choose a
wife who would consume half his life were he to live as she would have
him. It is no trifle to govern such a wife. You had better try to
manage four wild horses from the coach-box."

"I do not want to govern her."

"I believe you. But you must either govern or be governed. I will do
her the justice to say she is good-natured,--only, however, to those
who flatter her or submit to her. She is the sole good one in the
house. As for the two old people, they are hypocrites, each in his own
way; the woman with much talking, the husband with little. When he
speaks he gives it to be understood that every one of his words weighs
a pound. You can weigh it if you like. You will find it exact, no atom
short. When he puts his foot down to the ground, every step says, 'Here
comes a man of honor.' When he takes a fork in his hand, 'So eats a man
of honor,' it says. When he looks out of the window, he expects God in
heaven to call down to him, 'Good morning, thou man of honor!' And for
all that I would bet my head he is in debt for the fork in his hand and
the creaking boots on his feet."

"I did not come to hear that, uncle."

"I suppose not."

"I only came to ask you, in all respect, if you would act as my
father's representative, and go with me to urge my suit."

"I don't know why I should. You are of age. You did not seek my advice
beforehand."

"Excuse me for having asked you."

"Certainly. Stop," he cried, as Lenz turned to go, "a word more." For
the first time in his life he laid his hand on his nephew's shoulder.
The touch sent a strange thrill through the young man, and still more
did the words which Petrovitsch spoke in a voice of deep emotion: "I
would not have lived in vain for my own flesh and blood. I will give
y