COTTAGER. Wife, wife, never speak ill of the dead. Say what you
please against the living, but not a word against the dead.

WIFE. And yet, husband, I believe the dead care the least what is said
against them--And so, if you please, I'll tell my story. The late
Baroness was, they say, haughty and proud; and they do say, the Baron
was not so happy as he might have been; but he, bless him, our good
Baron is still the same as when a boy. Soon after Madam had closed her
eyes, he left France, and came to Waldenhaim, his native country.

COTTAGER. Many times has he joined in our village dances. Afterwards,
when he became an officer, he was rather wild, as most young men are.

WIFE. Yes, I remember when he fell in love with poor Agatha, Friburg's
daughter: what a piece of work that was--It did not do him much
credit. That was a wicked thing.

COTTAGER. Have done--no more of this--It is not well to stir up old
grievances.

WIFE. Why, you said I might speak ill of the living. 'Tis very hard
indeed, if one must not speak ill of one's neighbours, dead, nor alive.

COTTAGER. Who knows whether he was the father of Agatha's child? She
never said he was.

WIFE. Nobody but him--that I am sure--I would lay a wager--no, no
husband--you must not take his part--it was very wicked! Who knows
what is now become of that poor creature? She has not been heard of