“Ah， yes， you are always so polite，” said mamma， with a smile; and Kala silently pressed his hand， all soiled as it was with the clay.
Then he unfolded to them both the beauties of Nature， in all her works; he pointed out to them how， in the scale of creation， inanimate matter was inferior to animate nature; the plant above the mineral， the animal above the plant， and man above them all. He strove to show them how the beauty of the mind could be displayed in the outward form， and that it was the sculptor's task to seize upon that beauty of expression， and produce it in his works. Kala stood silent， but nodded in approbation of what he said， while mamma-in-law made the following confession：—
“It is difficult to follow you; but I go hobbling along after you with my thoughts， though what you say makes my head whirl round and round. Still I contrive to lay hold on some of it.”
Kala's beauty had a firm hold on Alfred; it filled his soul， and held a mastery over him. Beauty beamed from Kala's every feature， glittered in her eyes， lurked in the corners of her mouth， and pervaded every movement of her agile fingers. Alfred， the sculptor， saw this. He spoke only to her， thought only of her， and the two became one; and so it may be said she spoke much， for he was always talking to her; and he and she were one. Such was the betrothal， and then came the wedding， with bride's-maids and wedding presents， all duly mentioned in the wedding speech. Mamma-in-law had set up Thorwalsden's bust at the end of the table， attired in a dressing-gown; it was her fancy that he should be a guest. Songs were sung， and cheers given; for it was a gay wedding， and they were a handsome pair. “Pygmalion loved his Galatea，” said one of the songs.
“Ah， that is some of your mythologies，” said mamma-in-law.
Next day the youthful pair started for Copenhagen， where they were to live; mamma-in-law accompanied them， to attend to the “coarse work，” as she always called the domestic arrangements. Kala looked like a doll in a doll's house， for everything was bright and new， and so fine. There they sat， all three; and as for Alfred， a proverb may describe his position—he looked like a swan amongst the geese. The magic of form had enchanted him; he had looked at the casket without caring to inquire what it contained， and that omission often brings the greatest unhappiness into married life. The casket may be injured， the gilding may fall off， and then the purchaser regrets his bargain.
In a large party it is very disagreeable to find a button giving way， with no studs at hand to fall back upon; but it is worse still in a large company to be conscious that your wife and mother-in-law are talking nonsense， and that you cannot depend upon yourself to produce a little ready wit to carry off the stupidity of the whole affair.
The young married pair often sat together hand in hand; he would talk， but she could only now and then let fall a word in the same melodious voice， the same bell-like tones. It was a mental relief when Sophy， one of her friends， came to pay them a visit. Sophy was not， pretty. She was， however， quite free from any physical deformity， although Kala used to say she was a little crooked; but no eye， save an intimate acquaintance， would have noticed it. She was a very sensible girl， yet it never occurred to her that she might be a dangerous person in such a house. Her appearance created a new atmosphere in the doll's house， and air was really required， they all owned that. They felt the want of a change of air， and consequently the young couple and their mother travelled to Italy.
“Thank heaven we are at home again within our own four walls，” said mamma-in-law and daughter both， on their return after a year's absence.
“There is no real pleasure in travelling，” said mamma; “to tell the truth， it's very wearisome; I beg pardon for saying so. I was soon very tired of it， although I had my children with me; and， besides， it's very expensive work travelling， very expensive. And all those galleries one is expected to see， and the quantity of things you are obliged to run after! It must be done， for very shame; you are sure to be asked when you come back if you have seen everything， and will most likely be told that you've omitted to see what was best worth seeing of all. I got tired at last of those endless Madonnas; I began to think I was turning into a Madonna myself.”
“And then the living， mamma，” said Kala.
“Yes， indeed，” she replied， “no such a thing as a respectable meat soup—their cookery is miserable stuff.”