“May I talk to you a little? May I tell you something? May I tell you that what you are doing is madness?”

 

He moved her hands from his book and looked up:

 

“Sit down, Adelheid,” he said wearily. “Sit down in that chair.”

 

But she took the book from him and threw it on the floor:

 

“You are ill, Cordt. You have become ill up here in this dreadful room.”

 

“Have you a household remedy?” he asked.

 

“How can you have the heart to make a jest of it?”

 

[72]“It would be a bitter jest, if it were one,” he said. “But it was not a jest. I believe in the old household remedies.”

 

Fru Adelheid sat down in her chair and stared helplessly before her:

 

“Of course you do,” she said. “And in old books and in everything that has ceased to exist.”

 

He said nothing, but yawned wearily.

 

“And God shall be set on His throne again and I shall sit at the spinning-wheel and we shall enjoy a blessed married life and be happy ever after.”

 

Cordt crossed his legs and looked at his nails:

 

“Yes ... that is my programme,” he said quietly. “Something like that. And you have stated it in your usual affectionate manner.”

 

“Cordt, how can you have the heart?”

 

She swung her body to and fro; her hands lay folded in her lap, her eyes were[73] moist. She wanted to say something, but could not, because the tears prevented her. She could not understand that he did not help her. Then she said:

 

“Things are going badly with us, Cordt.”

 

And, as he was still silent, she pulled herself together with an effort and spoke¹ with closed eyes, constantly rocking to and fro:

 

“We must obey the law under which we were born ... must we not, Cordt? After all, we are modern people ... both of us. Tired, empty people, if you like. But we do think and feel otherwise than people did when ... when they were the sort of people whom you like. And we cannot alter ourselves. But we can be as happy as it is possible to be ... nowadays, being what we are. Why should we not be happy, Cordt?”

 

“I am not happy.”

 

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