“How can you have the heart to make a jest of it?”
“It would be a bitter jest, if it were one,” he said. “But it was not a jest. I believe in the old household remedies.”
Fru Adelheid sat down in her chair and stared helplessly before her:
“Of course you do,” she said. “And in old books and in everything that has ceased to exist.”
He said nothing, but yawned wearily.
“And God shall be set on His throne again and I shall sit at the spinning-wheel and we shall enjoy a blessed married life and be happy ever after.”
Cordt crossed his legs and looked at his nails:
“Yes ... that is my programme,” he said quietly. “Something like that. And you have stated it in your usual affectionate manner.”
“Cordt, how can you have the heart?”
She swung her body to and fro; her hands lay folded in her lap, her eyes were moist. She wanted to say something, but could not, because the tears prevented her. She could not understand that he did not help her. Then she said: