Knut sprang up, and stood with legs apart and his hands behind his back.
“To the bailiff?” he asked, eyeing her over the spectacles he used for writing. “No, indeed; I’m not quite crazy!”
But Marit was already incensed at his having failed her in the matter of the sacrament, and she now suspected that something else was being kept from her. She came a step nearer.
“You won’t?” she cried, her voice trembling still more.
The old man began to breathe hard. Now that he was angry, her self-importance seemed both ridiculous and irritating. He would never think of confessing his misdeeds to this impertinent creature!
“What are you doing here?” he cried, throwing back his head, and glaring at her through his spectacles.
“I want you to go to the bailiff.”
“Leave the room! I will be left in peace!”
But she laughed scornfully.
“Oh, I see you would rather pay, and pay even if your children hadn’t a rag to their backs! And after this any rogue can make use of your name, and you’ll pay! Or”—and she laughed again, and looked sharply at him—“perhaps you have backed his bill? Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if you’re guilty.”