The inn-keeper diligently refilled their glasses, and Lars Peter looked more and more brightly at things. He was overcome by the Bandmaster's grand connections, and his ability in finding ways and means—exceedingly clever people he had struck upon. And when Miss Alma came, full-figured and with a curled fringe, his whole face beamed. "What a lovely girl," said he warmly, "just the kind I'd have liked in the old days."
Miss Alma at once wanted to sit on his knee, but Lars Peter kept her at arms' length. "I've got a wife," said he seriously. Sörine should have no grounds for complaint. A look from the Bandmaster made Alma draw herself up.
"Just wait until the princess comes, then you'll see a lady," said he to Lars Peter.
"She's not coming. She's at a ball tonight," said Miss Alma with resentment.
"Then we'll go to the palace and find her." The Bandmaster took his hat, and they all got up.
Outside in the street, a half-grown girl ran up and whispered something to him.
"Sorry, but I must go," said he to Lars Peter—"my mother-in-law is at death's door. But you'll have a good time all right."
"Come along," cried Miss Alma, taking the rag and bone man by the arm. "We two are going to see life!"
"Hundred—er—kisses, Alma! don't forget," called the Bandmaster after them. His voice sounded like a market crier's.
"All right," answered Miss Alma, with a laugh.