“This is a rich house,” she said. “A noble man was he who gave me all this for my own.”
In the great drawing-room, where the dance had lately whirled, the stiff-backed arm-chairs already stood in prim order against the walls.
She went over to the piano, and very gently struck a chord.
“Joy and gladness were no strangers here in my time, either,” she said.
She went also to the guest-room beyond. It was pitch-dark. The major’s wife groped with her hands and came against the maid’s face.
“Are you weeping?” she said, for she felt her hands were wet with tears.
Then the young girl burst out sobbing.
“Madame,” she cried, “madame, they will destroy everything. Why do you leave us and let the pensioners ruin your house?”
The major’s wife drew back the curtain and pointed out into the yard.
“Is it I who have taught you to weep and lament?” she cried. “Look out! the place is full of people; to-morrow there will not be one pensioner left at Ekeby.”