The red flowers stood indoors, in the warmth, and looked pitiful. And a big table had been placed at the back of the room, with a lamp upon it and a pile of books.

 

Cordt came early.

 

He went straight up to the table, sat down and opened a book. Soon after, he stood at the window and looked out.

 

It was growing dusk. A damp and misty² evening, with a thin, reddish light behind the mist and cold feet and dripping roofs. The snow on the square had melted into slush. The fountain was[40] silent, covered with boards and pine-faggots.

 

He sat down again and read. He stood up, looked at his watch, went to the window, walked up and down the floor and sat down again. He lit a cigar and let it go out. He went away and came back in an hour and began all over again.

 

A little before midnight, the carriage drove in through the gateway³ and, five minutes later, Fru Adelheid stood in the room, tall and white, with large eyes.

 

“Have you enjoyed yourself, Adelheid?”

 

She could hear that he did not care to know and she did not answer:

 

“I am freezing,” she said.

 

She drew her chair close up to the fire, nestled into it and put her feet on the fender.

 

“They asked after you, Cordt.”

 

“I daresay.”

 

[41]He turned over the leaves of his book a little, then closed it and drew his chair beside hers. He sat resting his cheek in his hand and looked tired.

 

“Do you intend to sit in this room all day, Cordt?”

 

“No, only in the evening. When I have nothing else to do. I love this room.”

 

She pressed her hands hard together and closed her eyes.

 

“I hate it,” she said. “All the unkindness that has come between you and me comes from here.”

 

He said nothing to this, but rose and went to the table for a cigar. Something went through her as he slammed the lid of the box.

 

“Are you going with me to-morrow?”

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