Fru Adelheid sighed and said nothing.
“Then one could live,” said Finn.
CHAPTER XIV
From that day onward, Finn only left the old room when obliged.
The spring had opened the fountain before the house and he was happy at its rippling, which never began and never stopped. The red flowers were put out on the balcony: when the wind blew, their petals fluttered right over into the basin of the fountain and rocked upon the water. He followed their dance through the air and wondered if they would reach their goal.
His best time was in the evening, when the square shone with a thousand lights.
He loved the dying day.
He knew every light that went out, every sound as it stopped. And he liked the sound best when it stopped and the light when it went out. He thought that the people who moved down below, disguised in the darkness, were of another kind or better than those whom the sun shone upon. He had no more to do with them than with the others; but he liked them better.