“No, of course not,” she laughed. “I was only going to say that it’s a misfortune for us both. Just think! I haven’t any real sweetheart now, and I’m just as deserted as you are.”
“But haven’t you the merry Marquis?”
“Why I’m married to him!” she almost sobbed, so convinced was she of her own misfortune. “Can you understand at all—you who are from Switzerland where every one chooses as he wishes, what it means to be born a Princess and to be sold according to appraisement?”
“Ei, ja,” nodded Primus. “With us in Appenzell, no peasant who owned fifty cows would give his girl to a peasant who didn’t own so many. That is good for the family.”
“How is it?”
“Keeps them from becoming poor,”
“Are you very poor?”
“If I hadn’t been I wouldn’t have become a soldier.”
At this moment the little Marquise asked Herr Primus, if he would like to set up a dairy for her in La Réole—like those in his home, in Appenzell. My great grandfather twirled his round hat in his hand and fought the sternest battle of his life. His honest Swiss mind was interested in just one thing, how much gold he could get. Twice he began, looked up in the gay, sunshine face, and for the life of him, could not get the question out of his mouth. So he said yes without any conditions. He had even forgotten his Swiss reckoning in this charming interview.
