No answer; all turn towards the priest and his wife.
“If there won’t be any children?” asks the lay-helper again.
“No,” says the boatman.
The lady flushed a little. The chaplain said:
“There are only ourselves.... You men had better come up and I’ll settle with you now.”
Oh, a rich man, of course. A man who would not withhold his due from the poor. The former priest never “settled” with people at all; he only said thanks, and that would be all “for now.”
They walked up from the quay, Rolandsen leading the way. He walked by the side of the road, in the snow, to leave place for the others; he wore light shoes, in his vain and showy way, but it did not seem to hurt him; he even walked with his coat unbuttoned, for all it was only May and the wind cold.
“Ah, there’s the church,” says the priest.
“It looks old,” says his wife. “I suppose there’s no stove inside?” she asks.