But so it was. I would try to make her jealous.
Of the three girls on the place, there was only one that could possibly be used for the experiment, and that was Emma. So I started talking nonsense to Emma.
“Emma, I know of some one that is sighing for you.”
“And where did you get to know of that, pray?”
“From the stars above.”
“I'd rather hear of it from some one here on earth.”
“I can tell you that, too. At first hand.”
“It's himself he means,” put in Falkenberg, anxious to keep well out of it.
“Well, and I don't mind saying it is. Paratum cor meum.”
But Emma was ungracious, and didn't care to talk to me, for all I was better at languages than Falkenberg. What—could I not even master Emma? Well ... I turned proud and silent after that, and went my own ways, making drawings for that machine of mine and little models. And when Falkenberg was singing of an evening, and Fruen listening, I went across to the men's quarters and stayed there with them. Which, of course, was much more dignified. The only trouble about it was that Petter was ill in bed, and couldn't stand the noise of ax and hammer, so I had to go outside every time I'd any heavy piece of work to do.