himself in their esteem that nothing could shake him in it. We cannot indeed disguise the fact that with all of them it somewhat ran counter to their ideas of what should be when he chose for his wife an illegitimate orphan, for in these matters no one was better or worse than his neighbours, and everyone said secretly to himself, “For my part I could not have done it.” But as it was Frank who did it they made their peace with him, and as it was Staza who was the object of his choice they made their peace with her as well.
And so the happy pair were escorted by such a goodly company as ne’er was seen before in Frishetts, and a festival was celebrated the like of which few a short time before ever expected to see again originate from Loyka’s farm. People collected on foot and in carriages from all parts of the neighbourhood—not only in honour of Frank’s bridal day, but also in honour of old Loyka’s recovery, who had for so many years wandered among them without health and without mind.
What more have I to relate?
Beside the coach house in the two chambers the legends and ballads of old times, which had been banished for so many years, took root once more. And Loyka’s courtyard beamed like the face of a happy listener.
If we wish to take a peep for a moment, we can do so. The farm is again free of access to everyone:
BB 2
