He always gave Fru Adelheid the letters he received, although she never asked for them.
Fru Adelheid looked impatiently at her watch. She sat down, closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the pane.
She thought how empty the house had been during the summer.
Cordt had not said a word about the old room, but, from the day when Finn had moved up there, things had altered between him and her. Something had happened ... something indefinite and nameless, but none the less fateful on that account.
And, while Finn was abroad, this had grown between them ... without their doing anything to further or prevent it. Neither of them thought about it. Both led their own lives and drifted farther apart in their yearning for their quiet child. The day was long for them, their rooms were cold.
But inside her was a growing anxiety for Cordt, who became ever more silent and wore such a melancholy look in his eyes.
A door opened and she sprang up:
“We shall be late, Cordt.”
“Not at all,” he said, calmly. “You ordered the carriage too early.”