"But you can't get Fru Falkenberg," she says, beginning again. "It's simply hopeless."

"No, I can't get her. Nor you either."

"Are you speaking to Fru Falkenberg now again?"

"No, it was to you this time."

Pause.

"Do you know I was in love with you? Yes, when I was at home."

"This is getting quite amusing," said I, shifting up on the sofa. "Oh, we'll manage Bewer, never fear."

"Yes, only fancy, I used to go up to the churchyard to meet you in the evenings. But you, foolish person, you didn't see it a bit."

"Now you're talking to Bewer, of course," said I.

"No, it's perfectly true. And I came over one day when you were working in the potato fields. It wasn't your young Erik I came to see, not a bit."

"Only think, that it should have been me," I say, putting on a melancholy air.

"Yes, of course you think it was strange. But really, you know, people who live in the country must have some one to be fond of too."

"Does Fru Falkenberg say the same?"

"Fru Falkenberg? No, she says she doesn't want to be fond of anybody, only play her piano and that sort of thing. But I was speaking of myself. Do you know what I did once? No, really, I can't tell you that.

Do you want to know?

"Yes, tell me."

"Well, then ... for, after all, I'm only a child compared to you, so it doesn't matter. It was when you were sleeping in the barn; I went over there one day and laid your rugs together properly, and made a proper bed."

"Was it you did that?" I burst out quite sincerely, forgetting to play my part.

"You ought to have seen me stealing in. Hahaha!"

But this young girl was--not artful enough, she changed colour at her little confession, and laughed forcedly to cover her confusion.

I try to help her out, and say:

"You're really good-hearted, you know. Fru Falkenberg would never have done a thing like that."

"No; but then she's older. Did you think we were the same age?"

"Does Fru Falkenberg say she doesn't _want_ to be fond of anybody?"

"Yes. Oh no ... bother, I don't know. Fru Falkenberg's married, of course; she doesn't say anything. Now talk to me again a little.... Yes, and do you remember the time we went up to the store to buy things, you know? And I kept walking slower and slower for you to catch up...."

"Yes ... that was nice of you. And now I'll do something for you in return."

I rose from my seat, and walked across to where young Bewer sat, and asked if he would not care to join us at our table. I brought him along; Frken Elisabeth flushed hotly as he came up. Then I talked those two young people well together, which done, I suddenly remembered I had some business to do, and must go off at once. "I'm ever so sorry to leave just now. Frken Elisabeth, I'm afraid you've turned my head, bewitched me completely; but I realize it's hopeless to think of it. It's a marvel to me, by the way...."

x.x.xIV

I shambled over to Raadhusgaten, and stood awhile by the cab stand, watching the entrance to the Victoria. But, of course, she had gone to see some friends. I drifted into the hotel, and got talking to the porter.

Yes, Fruen was in. Room No. 12, first floor.

Then she was not out visiting friends?

No.

Was she leaving shortly?

Fruen had not said so.

I went out into the street again, and the cabmen flung up their ap.r.o.ns, inviting my patronage. I picked out a cab and got in.

"Where to?"

"Just stay where you are. I'm hiring you by the hour."

The cabmen walk about whispering, one suggesting this, another that: he's watching the place; out to catch his wife meeting some commercial traveller.

Yes, I am watching the place. There is a light in one or two of the rooms, and suddenly it strikes me that she might stand at a window and see me. "Wait," I say to the cabman, and go into the hotel again.

"Whereabouts is No. 12?"

"First floor."

"Looking out on to Raadhusgaten?"

"Yes."

"Then it must have been my sister," I say, inventing something in order to slip past the porter.

I go up the stairs, and, to give myself no chance of turning back, I knock at the door the moment I have seen the number. No answer. I knock again.

"Is it the maid?" comes a voice from within.

I could not answer yes; my voice would have betrayed me. I tried the handle--the door was locked. Perhaps she had been afraid I might come; possibly she had seen me outside.

"No, it's not the maid," I say, and I can hear how the words quiver strangely.