"Why," she said, flourishing her knitting-needles, "even the greatest criminal has some redeeming features. And as with criminals, so with countries. But you leave England no virtues: not one."
The men shrugged their shoulders. It was so obvious to them that England had no virtues. It was so obvious to them that they, who had never been to that detestable country, knew far more about the character of the people than this ridiculous old Danish woman who had spent about twenty years amongst the barbarians. Tante was ruffled. And Ejnar, being in a disagreeable mood, had chimed in too against this much-abused nation.
"Ja," he said in his quiet way, "it is a barbarous country, this England. I know nothing about politics, thank heaven, nothing about wars and so forth. But this I can tell you: that England is the only country which refused to exchange botanical specimens with our Botanical Museum. The barbarian director wrote a rude letter."
"I've told you a dozen times, Ejnar, that it was all probably owing to Red Tape," replied Tante angrily. She could have shaken Ejnar.
"And pray what is this Red Tape?" asked the Sorenskriver contemptuously.
"It is an invisible thread which no one has been able to cut, so far," said Tante. "Every one knows it is there and deplores its presence. If it could once be cut, it would shrivel away, and one of England's dangers would be gone."
"Then you admit she has dangers?" asked the fur-merchant, triumphantly rubbing his hands.
"Ja, ja," said Tante Knudsgaard; "but the greatest of them is Red Tape. She suffers from it in everything—both in war and in peace. But she will overcome all her difficulties and emerge."
"Never, never!" said the Sorenskriver and fur-merchant joyfully together. "Her day is gone."
"Then her twilight and her night will be like the glorious midnight sunlight of your north," said Tante, turning to the fur-merchant who came from the north.