The Captain and his wife came next day. Nils and I had talked over whether to hoist the flag; I dared not myself, but Nils was less cautious, and said we must. So there it was, flapping broad and free from its white staff.
I was close at hand when the carriage drove up and they got out. Fruen walked out far across the courtyard, looked at the house, and clapped her hands. I heard her, too, loud in wonder as she entered the hall—at sight of the stairs, no doubt, and the new red carpet.
Grindhusen had no sooner got the horses in than he came up to me, all agape with astonishment over something, and drew me aside to talk.
“There must be something wrong,” he said. “That's not Fru Falkenberg, surely? Is she married to him—the Captain, I mean?”
“Why, yes, Grindhusen, the Captain's wife is married to the Captain. What makes you ask?”
“But it's that cousin girl! I'll stake my life on it if it's not the very same one. The Inspector's cousin that was there.”
“Not a bit of it, Grindhusen. But it might be her sister.”
“But I'll stake my life on it. I saw her with him myself I don't know how many times.”
“Well, well, she may be his cousin as far as that goes, but what's it to do with us?”
“I saw it the moment she got out of the train. And she looked at me, too, and gave a start. I could see her breathing quickly after. Don't come telling me.... But I can't make out.... Is she from here?”