It was the old pensioner. After a while, he continued:
"I'm not so stupid; I know that it's night now and the freeholder and his wife are come. I'll give them lots of trouble. I'm Jochem. Jochem's my name, and what the people don't like, I do for spite. Ha! ha! ha! I don't use any light and they must make me an allowance for that. I'll insist on it, if I have to go to the king himself about it."
Irma started, when she heard the king mentioned.
"Yes, I'll go to the king, to the king! to the king!" cried the old man overhead, as if he knew that the word tortured Irma.
She heard him close the window and move a chair. The old man went to bed.
Irma looked out into the dark night. Not a star was to be seen. There was no light anywhere; nothing was heard but the roaring of the mountain stream and the rustling of the trees. The night seemed like a dark abyss.
"Are you still awake?" asked a soft voice without. It was the grandmother.
"I was once a servant at this farm," said she. "That was forty years ago; and now I'm the mother of the freeholder's wife, and almost the head one on the farm. But I keep thinking of you all the time. I keep trying to think how it is in your heart. I've something to tell you. Come out again. I'll take you where it'll do you good to be. Come!"
Irma went out into the dark night with the old woman. How different this guide from the one she had had the day before!
The old woman led her to the fountain. She had brought a cup with her and gave it to Irma. "Come, drink; good cold water's the best. Water comforts the body; it cools and quiets us; it's like bathing one's soul. I know what sorrow is, too. One's insides burn as if they were afire."