Now I am going to shut my window, pull down the Venetian blinds, and try to get a little rest. It has refreshed me writing to you. Perhaps I may have a nap—perhaps even a dream....
Chlodwig.
Franka and Helmer sat together as usual at luncheon. Franka had come in a little late.
“Well,” said she, as she took her place, “did you have your dream?”
“Yes, I dreamed about you. I saw you standing on the platform again and ...”
“And it was to be for the last time, was it?” interrupted Franka. “You wrote me, didn’t you, because it would be easier than to say to me, by word of mouth, during breakfast: ‘Miss Garlett, you spoke very indifferently. You are no longer accomplishing your work—retire!’”
“Oh,” exclaimed Chlodwig, pained, “did you understand me so?”
“The principal thing I understood was that you were in a very melancholy and excited frame of mind and came to me for comfort: that delights me. And one thing more—you desire my happiness. But do you really think it beckons in the direction you suppose? Two or three bunches of violets are hardly to be regarded as an offer of marriage. Up to the present time, I have not the slightest ground for supposing that Prince Victor Adolph has ever thought of such a thing.”
“He has not intimated to you that he is in love with you?” This question was in a jubilant tone.
“No, and if he should do so, do you know what ... what I ... well, I confess, I am not quite certain myself.... Perhaps it would have been better if you had not suggested such a thing ... you have kindled a spark in my heart.”