The major’s wife ordered that all the workmen on the estate should be gathered together up by the bachelors’ wing; she herself went to the house. There she went to the main building, knocked, and was let in. The young daughter of the minister at Broby, whom she had trained to be a capable maid-servant, was there to meet her.
“You are so welcome, madame,” said the maid, and kissed her hand.
“Put out the light!” said the major’s wife. “Do you think I cannot find my way without a candle?”
And then she began a wandering through the silent house. She went from the cellar to the attic, and said farewell. With stealthy step they went from room to room.
The major’s wife was filled with old memories. The maid neither sighed nor sobbed, but tear after tear flowed unchecked from her eyes, while she followed her mistress. The major’s wife had her open the linen-closet and silver-chest, and passed her hand over the fine damask table-cloths and the magnificent silver service. She felt caressingly the mighty pile of pillows in the store-closet. She touched all the implements, the looms, the spinning-wheels, and winding-bobbins. She thrust her hand into the spice-box, and felt the rows of tallow candles which hung from the rafters.
“The candles are dry,” she said. “They can be taken down and put away.”
She was down in the cellar, carefully lifted the beer-casks, and groped over the rows of wine bottles.
She went into the pantry and kitchen; she felt everything, examined everything. She stretched out her hand and said farewell to everything in her house.
Last she went through the rooms. She found the long broad sofas in their places; she laid her hand on the cool slabs of the marble tables, and on the mirrors with their frames of gilded dancing nymphs.