“I am only making myself a little bit smart, mother dear!”
“Yes, yes—dance, my baby. You’ve still got the best of your youth before you, poor child! Why didn’t you get a husband where you got the child from?”
Hanne only hummed a tune to herself, and proceeded to don the bright blue summer costume. It was a little full across the chest, but the decolletage sat snugly over her uncovered bosom. A faint cloud of vapor surrounded her person like a summer haze.
Her mother had to hook up the dress at the back. “If only we don’t wake Marie!” she whispered, entirely absorbed by the dress. “And the fine lace on the chemise—you can always let that peep out of the dress a little—it looks so pretty like that. Now you really look like a summer girl!”
“I’ll just run down and show it to Madam Olsen,” said Hanne, pressing her hand to her glowing cheeks.
“Yes, do—poor folks’ joys must have their due,” replied the old woman, turning over to the wall.
Hanne ran down the steps and across the yard and out into the street. The ground was hard and ringing in the frost, the cold was angry and biting, but the road seemed to burn Hanne through her thin shoes. She ran through the market, across the bridge, and into the less crowded quarter of the city—right into Pelle’s arms. He was just going to see Father Lasse.
Pelle was wearied and stupefied with the continual battle with hard reality. The bottomless depths of misery were beginning to waste his courage. Was it really of any use to hold the many together? It only made the torture yet harder for them to bear. But in a moment everything looked as bright as though he had fallen into a state of ecstasy, as had often happened lately. In the midst of the sternest realities it would suddenly happen that his soul would leap within him and conjure up the new age of happiness before his eyes, and the terrible dearth filled his arms to overflowing with abundance! He did not feel the cold; the great dearth had no existence; violent spiritual excitement and insufficient nourishment made the blood sing continually in his ears. He accepted it as a happy music from a contented world. It did not surprise him that he should meet Hanne in summer clothing and attired as for a ball.
“Pelle, my protector!” she said, grasping his hand. “Will you go to the dance with me?”
“That’s really the old Hanne,” thought Pelle delightedly—“the careless Princess of the ‘Ark,’ and she is feverish, just as she used to be then.” He himself was in a fever. When their eyes met they emitted a curious, cold, sparkling light. He had quite forgotten Father Lasse and his errand, and went with Hanne.