IV.
THE Institution for Fallen Women of St. Peter’s Parish was thus brought into active existence, and the police-chief’s wife was not a little proud of her register. It was a thick, solemn book, in yellowish parchment, with red-leather back and the Institution’s name in gilt letters.
Otherwise the work of the Institution was yet preparatory; for the endowments were not yet sufficient to establish a separate foundation with buildings and managers. Besides, it was rather slow work to collect the support; public opinion was not enthusiastic. Neither did it seem so easy to find the fallen women of St. Peter’s Parish.
But then that was not the Secretary’s business. She held open office in her drawing-room every morning from ten to eleven; the register lay opened at the first page, where as yet there stood nothing but the headings above the columns: Name, age, by whom presented, etc. At one side stood the ink-stand with a decorated quill-pen for ornament and a new steel-pen to write with.
But no one came, and the lady was oftentimes a little impatient. Now and then meetings were held, or the chaplain called on her to talk about the Institution’s affairs. In this way it was her part to talk about these things with a young man, and her handsome eyes had often to droop deep down over the register. But it was still an inspiring feeling—so the chaplain said—that one should, in her own purity, have an eye for the evil about her, and do what was in human power to rescue the fallen.
At home at the Ark they lived as they could, but not always as they should. The man of the many faces had shown himself several times, and upon these visits always ensued a mutual prosperity and an obliging mood in the sulky hostess.
The trio-concerts were therefore flourishing, and they not only extended to poor Fürstenau, but also Onslow and Kalliwoda—yes, even Father Haydn had to give himself up to be trilled by Olkonomen, drummed by Jorgen Tambur, and pounded by old Schirrmeister, who played like a madman, and drank—like a Dutch musician.
During the autumn Christian Falbe had one of his very worst periods; and that engrossed his sister so much that she did not take notice how pale and changed Elsie had become.
Madam Speckbom, on the other hand, noticed it quick enough; but she smiled her philosophical smile; when young folks are in love, it looks just like that for a time.