And then the stars began to twinkle, and the moon crept higher and higher up the sky. Down in the village a dog was barking. But it must have been barking in a dream, for there was nothing to bark at.
"Is there anybody there?" asked the Mist.
But nobody answered, for nobody was there. So the Mist issued forth in her bright, airy robes. She went dancing over the meadows, up and down, to and fro. Then she lay quite still for a moment, and then she took to dancing again. Out over the lake she skipped and deep into the wood, where she threw her long, damp arms round the trunks of the trees.
"Who are you, my friend?" asked the Night-Violet [Footnote: An inconspicuous flower which in Denmark is very fragrant in the evening, the "night-smelling rocket" (Hesperis triatto).], who stood there giving forth fragrance just to please herself.
The Mist did not answer, but went on dancing.
"I asked you who you were," said the Night-Violet. "And as you don't answer me, I conclude that you are a rude person."
"I will now conclude you" said the Mist. And then she spread herself round the Night-Violet, so that her petals were dashed with wet.
"Oh, oh!" cried the Night-Violet. "Keep your fingers to yourself, my friend. I have a feeling as if I had been dipped in the pond. You have no reason for getting so angry just because I asked you who you are."
The Mist let go of her again. "Who am I?" she said. "You could not understand even if I told you."
"Try," said the Night-Violet.