"She! Why, she had a child before she was married."
"Emma? Emma Ravn?"
"Yes! But I do not know who by."
"Do you know, Angelika, I do not believe that," he said solemnly.
"You can do as you please about that, but she was at the pension at the time, so you can judge for yourself if I am right."
He could not believe that any human being could so belie themselves. Emma's eyes, clear as water in a fountain where one can count the pebbles at the bottom, rose to his mind, in all their innocence. He could not believe that such eyes could lie. He grew livid, he could not eat, he left the table. The world was nothing but a delusion, the purest was impure.
For a long time after this, whenever he met Emma or her white-haired mother, he turned aside, so as not to come face to face with them.
He had clung to his relations: their weak points were apparent to every one, but their ability and honesty no less so. This one story destroyed his confidence, impaired his self-reliance, shattered his belief, and thus made him the poorer. How could he be fit for anything, when he so constantly allowed himself to be befooled?
There was not one word of truth in the whole story.
His simple confidence was held in her grasp, like a child in the talons of an eagle; but this did not last much longer.