She said a good deal more in this vein—quietly, glowingly, and amiably—the while she negotiated things on the stove, with the flames at times shooting up magically in front of her. And finally she came herself and with both hands opened Lux’s mouth in order to show us his fine teeth and for some mysterious reason also the rosy and riffled roof of his mouth.
Upon our asking, with professional air, whether he had already had the mange, she replied with a slight show of impatience, that she did not know. And as to his size when he had finally stopped growing?—well, she declared with a smart promptness, this would be exactly that of our deceased Percy. There was a good deal more of talk to and fro, a good deal of warmhearted encouragement on the part of Anastasia, reinforced by pleas from the children, and a good deal of half-conquered irresolution on our part. We finally begged leave to be permitted to consider the matter for a short time, and this was graciously granted us. And so we descended to the valley, thoughtfully rehearsing and ruminating upon our impressions.
That bit of four-legged misery under the table had naturally captured the hearts of the children, and we grownups attempted in vain to smile away their lack of taste and judgment. We, too, felt a tugging at our hearts and realised all too clearly that we should be hard put to it to banish the vision of the unfortunate Lux from our memories. What was to become of him?—if we turned away in contumely? Into whose—into what hands would he fall? A terrible and mysterious figure arose in our fantasies: the knacker in his flaying-house, from whose loathsome attentions we had once saved Percy by means of a few chivalrous bullets from the rifle of a gamekeeper and the honourable burial-place we had given him at the edge of our garden. If we were minded to leave Lux to an unknown and possibly ghastly fate we should not have been so careless as to make his acquaintance, and to look upon his childish face with the goatee. But now that we were aware of his existence, a responsibility seemed laid upon us which we could dispute only with difficulty and with forced, halfhearted denials.
Thus it came about that the third day following saw us once more climbing up that gentle spur of the lower Alps. It was not that we had already decided upon the acquisition of Lux. But we saw that things being as they were, it was not likely that the matter would have any other outcome.
This time we found Anastasia and her daughter sitting opposite each other at the kitchen-table and drinking coffee. Between them, in front of the table, sat he who bore the preliminary name of Lux—sat as he is still accustomed to sit today, his shoulder-blades twisted like a yokel’s, his paws turned in. Under his worn leather collar there was a little nosegay of wildflowers which decidedly augmented his appearance and lent it something festive, like that of an enterprising village youth on a Sunday or the bridegroom at a country wedding. The young hostess, who herself made a neat and pretty appearance in her peasant costume with its laced velvet bodice, had furbished him out in this fashion in order to celebrate his entry into his new home—as she put it. And mother and daughter both assured us that they had been absolutely certain that we should come again to fetch Lux, and that they knew that we should come today.
Thus all further controversy and debate proved to be impossible, in fact, precluded almost before we had entered. In her own pleasant way, Anastasia thanked us for the purchase-money which we handed to her and which amounted to ten marks. It was clear that she had imposed this price upon us more in our own interests than in hers, or those of the farmer-folk who had Lux to sell—that is, she felt that it was necessary to give a positive, computable value to poor Lux in our eyes. This we understood and gladly paid the tribute. Lux was detached from his table-leg, the end of the rope handed over to me, and thus we passed over the threshold of Anastasia’s kitchen, our procession attended by the most friendly wishes and congratulations.
It was, however, not a triumphal procession which proceeded on the hour’s march towards home with our new household companion—the less so since our bridegroom soon lost his nosegay. It is true that we read amusement and also mocking and derogatory depreciation in the glances of the people we met, the opportunities for which became multiplied as we made our way through the market place—longitudinally. To cap everything we soon discovered that Lux was suffering from a disorder of the bowels, apparently a chronic one, something which forced us to make frequent halts under the cynical eyes of the townspeople. We formed a protective circle and hid his internal misery from rude eyes, and solemnly asked ourselves whether it was not, after all, the mange which was thus displaying its most sinister symptoms? But this anxiety was uncalled-for, as the future proved to us, for we soon saw that we had to deal with a sound and hearty constitution which has proved itself proof against plagues and distempers up to this very moment.
As soon as we reached home, the servant-maids were called forth, so that they might make acquaintance with this new addition to the family and also deliver their humble judgment upon him. We saw that they had been prepared to express admiration, but after they had caught sight of him and read our own vacillating and uncertain looks, they broke into rude laughter, turned their backs upon him of the rueful countenance, and made motions of rejection in his direction. Confirmed by this in our doubt as to whether they would
