“Folks in Soroe, and this ‘Holy Andersen,’ as they call him.”
“Does he get something?” said Laide. “That I will grant him for his milk and water. He was so impolite toward the ladies!”
“I like them to quarrel in this way!” said the merchant’s lady. “Heiberg will doubtless get his share also, and then he will reply in something merry.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Berger, “he always knows how to twist things in such a manner that one must laugh, and then it is all one to us whether he is right or not.”
“This book is entirely for Heiberg,” said Otto. “The author is anonymous, and a clever man.”
“Good Heavens! you are not the author, Mr. Thostrup?” cried Julle, and looked at him with a penetrating gaze. “You can manage such things so secretly! You think so highly of Heiberg: I remember well all the beautiful things you said of his ‘Walter the Potter’ and his ‘Psyche.’”
Otto assured her that he could not confess to this honor.
They reached Roeskelde in the forenoon, but Eva did not receive them. The excursion to Lethraborg was arranged; toward evening they should again return to the inn, and then Eva would certainly appear.
The company walked in the garden at Lethraborg: the prospect from the terrace was beautiful; they looked through the windows of the castle, and at length came to the conclusion that it would be best to go in.
“There are such beautiful paintings, people say!” remarked the lover.