After that I heard no more.
My bedroom is up in the loft in the servants' quarters, and the one open window looks out to the shrubbery. When I come up I can still hear voices down there among the bushes, but cannot make out what is said. I thought to myself: why should the summer-house be shut up at night, and whose idea could it be? Possibly some very crafty soul, reckoning that, if the door were always kept locked, it would be less risky to slip inside one evening in good company, take out the key, and stay there.
Some way down along the way I had just come were two people walking up—Captain Bror and the old lady with the shawl. They had been sitting somewhere among the trees, no doubt, when I passed by, and I fell to wondering now if, by any chance, I could have been talking to myself as I walked, and been overheard.
Suddenly I see the engineer get up from behind the bushes and walk swiftly over to the summer-house. Finding it locked, he sets his shoulder against the door and breaks it open with a crash.
“Come along, there's nobody here!” he cries.
Fru Falkenberg gets up and says: “Madman! Whatever are you doing?”
But she goes towards him all the same.
“Doing?” says he. “What else should I do? Love isn't glycerine—it's nitro-glycerine.”
And he takes her by the arm and leads her in.
Well, 'tis their affair....