So they were not all equally fruitless, those days in the little town.
One morning I came back with the porter from the station; he had picked up a traveller with a heap of luggage, and had to take horse and cart to fetch the heavy grey trunks.
I had helped him to get them loaded up at the station, and now, as we pulled up at the hotel, he said: “You might lend a hand getting these things in; I'll stand you a bottle of beer this evening.”
So we carried in the trunks together. They were to be taken up at once to the big luggage-room upstairs; the owner was waiting for them. It was an easy job for the two of us big, strong fellows both.
We had got them up all but one—that was still in the cart—when the porter was called back upstairs; the traveller was giving him instructions about something or other. Meantime, I went out, and waited in the passage; I did not belong to the place, and did not want to be seen hanging about on the stairs by myself.
Just then the door of Engineer Lassen's office opened, and he and Fru Falkenberg came out. They looked as if they had just got up; they had no hats on; just going down to breakfast, no doubt. Now, whether they did not notice me, or took me for the porter standing there, they went on with what they had been saying.
“Quite so,” says the engineer. “And it won't be any different. I can't see what you've got to feel lonely about.”
“Oh, you know well enough!” she answered.
“No, I don't, and I do think you might be a little more cheerful.”
“You wouldn't like it if I were. You'd rather have me stay as I am, miserable and wretched, because you don't care for me any more.”