“I must judge for myself about such matters, of course,” said M. Kollsen. He was meditating a change of place, to escape further lecturing about his duty, when Peder saved him the trouble of leaving his comfortable seat by rising and moving away towards the fire. Peder’s pipe was smoked out, and he was going for more tobacco to the place where tobacco was always to be found—in a little recess above the fireplace. He felt his way carefully, that he might not interfere with the dancers, or be jostled by them; but he had not far to go. One friend begged to be sent for anything he wanted; another, with a quicker eye, brought him tobacco; and a third led him to his seat again. All looked with wonder at M. Kollsen, surprised that he, Peder’s companion at that moment, young and blessed with eyesight, could let the blind old man leave his seat for such a reason. M. Kollsen whiffed away, however, quite unconscious of what everybody was thinking.
“This waltz,” said Peder, when the dancers had begun again, “does not seem to go easily. There is something amiss. I think it is in the music that the fault lies. My boy’s clarionet goes well enough; no fear of Oddo’s being out. Pray, sir, who plays the violin at this moment?”
“A fellow who looks as if he did not like his business. He is frowning with his red brows as if he would frown out the lights.”
“His red brows! O, then it is Hund. I was thinking it would be hard upon him, poor fellow, if he had to play to-night; yet, not so hard as if he had to dance. It is weary work dancing with the heels when the heart is too heavy to move. You may have heard, sir, for everyone knows it, that Hund wanted to have young Rolf’s place, and, some say, Erica herself. Is she dancing, sir, if I may ask?”
“Yes, with Rolf. What sort of a man is Rolf—with regard to these superstitions, I mean? Is he as foolish as Erica—always frightened about something?”
“No, indeed. It is to be wished that Rolf was not so light as he is—so inconsiderate about these matters. Rolf has his troubles and his faults; but they are not of that kind.”
“Enough,” said M. Kollsen, with a voice of authority. “I rejoice to hear that he is superior to the popular delusions. As to his troubles and his faults, they may be left for me to discover all in good time.”
“With all my heart, sir. They are nobody’s business but his own, and, may be, Erica’s. Rolf has a good heart, and I doubt not Ulla and I shall have great comfort in him. He lives with us, sir, from this night forwards. There is no fear that he will wish us in our graves, though we stand between him and his marriage.”
“That must be rather a painful consideration to you.”
“Not at all, sir, at present. Ulla and I were all the happier, we think, to this day, for having had four such years as these young people have before them to know one another in, and grow suitable in notions and habits, and study to please one another. By the time Rolf and Erica are what we were, one or both of us will be underground, and Rolf will have, I am certain, the pleasant feeling of having done his duty by us. It is all as it should be, sir; and I pray that they may live to say at our age what Ulla and I can say at the same season of our lives.”