"Wake me in the middle of the night and offer me carrots, and I'll eat."
It was positively unnatural his being so reasonable and practical. The dashing cavalier of old, the conquering hero with the sixty silver bells, was apparently no more.
Then it happened that Lieutenant Lagerlöf during one of Wachenfeldt's visits got into an argument with the ladies about a young girl in the district. Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa both thought her sweet and winsome, while the Lieutenant declared that no man could ever fall in love with her. He appealed the case in point to Wachenfeldt, as was the custom in the family.
"Tell me, Wachenfeldt, you who are a judge of women—would you kiss such a little Miss Snippit?"
Colour-Sergeant von Wachenfeldt, old as he was, flushed. He struck the table with his fist, half-rose from his seat, and thundered:
"Don't ask me such a thing! I have never kissed a homely woman."
The ungodly persons round him broke into hilarious shrieks. Here he had been acting the part of the sage and the plain man of common sense, yet a simple little query like that had unmasked him. The old beau cavalier still survived in him. Sick and wretched, old and dilapidated as he was, let none think or assume that he would kiss a plain woman.
O Vackerfeldt! Vackerfeldt!
