The daughter heard her with one ear, but with the other was listening to a well-known voice singing in the street:
"I'd like to make love to you,
But your mother won't let me;
The old devil, confound her,
Must meddle in everything."
Finding the view out of the window more attractive than the lye kettle, Pamfila leaned on the sill. By-and-by, seeing that her daughter Was not coming and that time was flying, Aunt Holofernes lifted the caldron alone, to pour the lye over the clothes, and as the old woman was little and not over strong, she let it spill over on her foot. Hearing her mother’s cries, Pamfila ran to her assistance.
"You wicked good-for- nothing, love-sick girl," cried Aunt Holofernes, in a towering rage; "thinking of nothing but getting married. I wish to God you'd marry the devil!"
Some time after this a most unexceptionable lover presented himself. He was young, good-looking, well-behaved, and with well-filled pockets. Even Aunt Holofernes could find nothing to object to in him. Pamfila was half wild with delight, so preparations were made for the wedding. Everything was going on smoothly, when, all at once people began to talk against the stranger, though he was very polite, well-bred, and clever. He talked well and sang better, and pressed affectionately the horny palms of the peasant farmers between his soft, white, jeweled hands. But all his politeness did
