fru adelheid stood in her wraps at the window and looked out. the horses were stamping in the porch below; the footman stood by the carriage-door and waited.
they were going to the station to fetch finn.
he had been abroad the whole summer.
this was the first time he had been away alone and he had not enjoyed himself abroad. from florence, spain and paris he had written to ask if he might not come home. but cordt was resolved that he should remain abroad for the time agreed upon.
he wrote oftenest to fru adelheid ... and stupidly and awkwardly, because he[200] knew that his father would read the letters. cordt noticed this, but said nothing. he hurried through the letters as though he were looking for something positive and put them down with a face as though he had not found it.
he always gave fru adelheid the letters he received, although she never asked for them.
fru adelheid looked impatiently at her watch. she sat down, closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the pane.
she thought how empty the house had been during the summer.
cordt had not said a word about the old room, but, from the day when finn had moved up there, things had altered between him and her. something had happened ... something indefinite and nameless, but none the less fateful on that account.
[201]and, while finn was abroad, this had grown between them ... without their doing anything to further or prevent it. neither of them thought about it. both led their own lives and drifted farther apart in their yearning for their quiet child. the day was long for them, their rooms were cold.
but inside her was a growing anxiety for cordt, who became ever more silent and wore such a melancholy look in his eyes.
a door opened and she sprang up:
“we shall be late, cordt.”
“not at all,” he said, calmly. “you ordered the carriage too early.”
“let us go, cordt. we may just as well wait there as here.”
cordt sat down with his hat on his knee and looked at her. she stood with bent head and buttoned her gloves.
“sit down for a moment,” he said and pushed a chair towards her.
[202]“do you want to talk to me?”
“sit down, adelheid,” he said, impatiently. “sit down for a moment.”
fru adelheid leant against the chair and remained standing.
“it is long since we talked together, adelheid ... many, many years. do you know that?”
she shrugged her shoulders:
“very likely,” she said and made her voice as firm as she could. “we have peace now, you see.”
cordt nodded. he drummed with his fingers on his hat and looked out of the window:
“yes ... yes, no doubt. we are old, adelheid. as old as can be.”
“is that what you wanted to say to me?”
“i am afraid for finn,” said cordt. “he will come home as pale as when he went away, a poor dreamer by the grace[203] of god. to-morrow, he will be sitting up there and staring out at the life he dare not live.”
“yes ... why should he be up in the old room?”
“it was he who asked me,” said cordt, calmly. “i could not deny him his inheritance. he has the right to know the ground he sprang from.”
“and what then? do you think you can bring the dead days to life again?”
“no,” he said. “i don’t think that. i don’t want that.”
he was silent for a little. she did not take her eyes from his face. then he said:
“finn can build himself a new house, if he likes. or he can refurnish his ancestral halls. and put in plate-glass windows and wide staircases and anything that suits him and his period. but he must know and be thankful that the walls are strong and the towers tall.”
[204]fru adelheid pushed back the chair she was leaning against:
“there does not appear to be room for a mother in your arrangement,” she said.
her voice trembled, her eyes were large and angry. but cordt rose and looked as calm as before:
“you went out of it, adelheid. you did not wish to be there.”
she made no reply. she understood that he did not mean to consult her, to ask her for her help ... did not even want it.
“adelheid ... now that finn is coming....”
“yes?...”
“i am afraid for him, adelheid. and i would ask you to be on your guard and do him no harm. i believe that sometimes you smother his poor, dejected spirit. the peace which you have gained may be good in itself and good for you[205] ... but he is young, you must remember. he is only at the start of life, he has no need for peace and resignation. what is a boon to you is death to him, perhaps....”
she took a step forward and raised her face close up to his:
“now it has come to this, cordt, that you think i am your enemy for finn’s sake.”
“you may become so,” he said.
“you will drive me to it, cordt.”
he took her hand and held it tight when she tried to draw it away:
“no,” he said. “no, adelheid. i only want to warn you.”
