“But, to come back to the story, surely there are also Hagbarth and Signe,” she said. “Not to speak of Romeo and Juliet. And Maria Veczera ... and Elvira Madigan.”
Cordt continued his walk.
“I don’t say anything against it. It is a beautiful story. And perhaps it is true besides. In any case, it is right to place a good example before the young. But, as for Queen Thyre, it surely depends a little upon how long she had been Fru Trygvasson.”
He did not so much as look at her. She felt that she was being treated as a child whom one does not trouble to answer and she worked herself up into a steadily increasing passion and sought for words to wound him:
“Every love passes,” she said. “That we know. It is all very well for those who die first. They show up prettily in history; but there is nothing to prove that they were better than the rest of us.”
Cordt was still walking. Now he stood over by the window and looked out. Then he began to walk again.
“Cordt.”
He stopped before her chair and looked at her.
“Do you know how long King Olav and Queen Thyre were married?”
“What is the point of all this, Adelheid?”