“After Odense fair?” asked Sophie ironically.
Otto stood wrapped in his own thoughts. This day, he felt, would be one of the most remarkable in his life. German Heinrich must give him an explanation. Sophie must do so likewise Could he indeed meet with success from them both? Would not sorrow and pain be his fairings?
The carriage rolled away.
From the various cross-roads came driving up the carriages of the gentry and the peasants; the one drove past the other; and as the French and English Channel collects ships from the Atlantic Ocean, so did the King’s Road those who drove in carriages, those who rode on horseback, and those who went on foot.
Behind most of the peasant-vehicles were tied a few horses, that went trotting on with them. Mamsells from the farms sat with large gloves on their red arms and hands. They held their umbrellas before their faces on account of the dust and the sun.
“The Kammerjunker’s people must have set off earlier than we,” said Sophie, “otherwise they would have called for us.”
Otto looked inquiringly at her. She thought on the Kammerjunker!
“We shall draw up by Faugde church,” said Sophie. “Mr. Thostrup can see Kingo’s [Author’s Note: The Bishop of Funen, who died in 1703.] grave—can see where the sacred poet lies. Some true trumpeting angels, in whom one can rightly see how heavy the marble is, fly with the Bishop’s staff and hat within the chapel.”
Otto smiled, and she thought also about giving him pleasure.
The church was seen, the grave visited, and they rapidly rolled along the King’s Road toward Odense, the lofty tower of whose cathedral had hailed them at some miles’ distance.