Hanne stood still, gazing irresolutely into the distance.
“You must help me, Pelle,” she said, in a toneless voice, without meeting his eye.
“Yesterday I met…. Yesterday evening, as I was coming out of the factory … he stood down below here … he knows where I live. I went across to the other side and behaved as though I did not see him; but he came up to me and said I was to go to the New Market this evening!”
“And what did you say to that?” answered Pelle sulkily.
“I didn’t say anything—I ran as hard as I could!”
“Is that all you want me for?” cried Pelle harshly. “You can keep away from him, if you don’t want him!”
A cold shudder ran through her. “But if he comes here to look for me?… And you are so…. I don’t care for anybody in the world but you and mother!” She spoke passionately.
“Well, well, I’ll come over to you,” answered Pelle cheerfully.
He dressed himself quickly and went across. The old woman was delighted to see him. Hanne was quite frolicsome; she rallied him continually, and it was not long before he had abandoned his firm attitude and allowed himself to be drawn into the most delightful romancing. They sat out on the gallery under the green foliage, Hanne’s face glowing to rival the climbing pelargonium; she kept on swinging her foot, and continually touched Pelle’s leg with the tip of her shoe.
She was nervously full of life, and kept on asking the time. When her mother went into the kitchen to make coffee, she took Pelle’s hand and smilingly stroked it.