“Do you know him, then?”
“No, but it does happen sometimes that men come and speak to one. But then you’ll say I belong to you, won’t you?”
Pelle was going to refuse, but a shudder ran through her. She’s feverish, he thought compassionately; one gets fever so easily in the “Ark.” It comes up with the smell out of the sewer. She must have lied to me nicely, he thought after a while. Women are cunning, but he was too proud to question her. And then the crowd shouted “Hurrah!” so that the air rang. Pelle shouted with them; and when they had finished the man had disappeared.
They went over to the Hill, the old woman keeping her few steps in advance. Hanne hummed as she went; now and then she looked questioningly at Pelle—and then went on humming.
“It’s nothing to do with me,” said Pelle morosely. “But it’s not right of you to have lied to me.”
“I lie to you? But Pelle!” She gazed wonderingly into his eyes.
“Yes, that you do! There’s something between you and him.”
Hanne laughed, a clear, innocent laugh, but suddenly broken off. “No, Pelle, no, what should I have to do with him? I have never even seen him before. I have never even once kissed a man—yes, you, but you are my brother.”
“I don’t particularly care about being your brother—not a straw, and you know that!”
“Have I done anything to offend you? I’m sorry if I have.” She seized his hand.