“Really?” said the ferryman.
“Something has been lost. I ask if you have seen anything?”
“What are you asking about?”
“Yes, it makes no difference, but something has been lost. I ask if you have ferried anything over the river to-day?”
By these means he could find out nothing, and Countess Märta had to go and speak to the man. She knew in a minute, that she whom they sought was on board one of the heavily gliding barges.
“Who are the people on those barges?”
“Oh, they are the pensioners, as we call them.”
“Ah,” says the countess. “Yes, then your wife is in good keeping, Henrik. We might as well go straight home.”
On the barge there was no such great joy as Countess Märta believed. As long as the yellow coach was in sight, the frightened young woman shrank together on the load motionless and silent, staring at the shore.
Probably she first recognized the pensioners when she had seen the yellow coach drive away. She started up. It was as if she wanted to escape again, but she was stopped by the one standing nearest, and she sank back on the load with a faint moan.