Now, who would suspect, for instance, there was anything wrong with the Stenersens? I’m not saying there is anything wrong, and therefore I also merely ask if it would occur to anyone to suspect there was something wrong with that respectable family. There are only the two of them, man and wife, no children, no serious worries, and yet there may be a third person. God only knows, but perhaps when all is said and done there is one more person, besides the man and wife, a young person, a much too warm friend of the family, Mr. Reinert, the deputy. Well, what can one make of it? There may be faults on both sides. The doctor may even be wise to the situation and yet be powerless to do anything about it. In any case, he drank hard last night and showed such a devil-may-care attitude to everything, to the whole world, that he proposed the human race should exterminate itself with Prussic acid and let the show go on. Poor man! ... But he’s hardly the only one who is knee-deep in humbug, even if I exclude myself, Nagel, who is steeped in humbug to the waist. What if I mentioned Miniman, for example? A dear soul, a just man, a martyr! Everything that’s good is on his side, but I’ve got my eye on him. I’m telling you, I’ve got my eye on him! You appear to be surprised? Have I alarmed you? I didn’t mean to. Anyway, let me set your mind at rest at once by saying that nobody can get at Miniman, he’s truly righteous. Then why don’t I let him out of my sight? Why do I watch him from around the corner at two o’clock in the morning when he returns home from an innocent walk—at two in the morning? Why do I snoop on him from front and back when he carries his sacks around and greets people in the street? For no reason, bless me, no reason! He just interests me, I like him, and I’m very happy right now to be able to present him as someone pure and just in the midst of all the humbug otherwise. That’s why I mentioned him, and I’m quite sure you understand. Heh-heh-heh.... But to come back to myself—. Well, no, I don’t really want to come back to myself, anything but that!”
This last exclamation was so genuine, so rueful, that it made her feel sorry for him. She knew at that moment that she had to do with a torn and tormented soul. However, when he immediately took care to efface this impression, as he suddenly laughed coldly apropos of nothing and swore once again that everything was sheer humbug, her friendly feelings instantly left her. She said sharply, “You dropped some hints about Mrs. Stenersen which didn’t need to be half as crude to be base. You also scored a cheap point by ridiculing Miniman, a poor cripple. That was really mean, so vulgar!”
She started walking again and he kept pace with her. He didn’t answer but went on, his head bowed. His shoulders twitched a few times, and to her surprise she saw one or two big tears trickling down his face. He turned away and whistled to a songbird to hide them.
They walked for a couple of minutes without speaking. Touched, she bitterly regretted her harsh words. Maybe he was even right in what he said, what did she know? She couldn’t help wondering whether this person hadn’t seen more in a few weeks than she had in years.
They still didn’t talk. He was again quite composed and toyed nonchalantly with his handkerchief. In a few minutes they would be in sight of the parsonage.
Then she said, “Is your hand very sore? May I see it?”
Whether she wanted to please him or really gave in to him for a moment, she said this in a sincere, almost emotional voice, meanwhile stopping.
Then his passion ran away with him. At this moment, when she was standing so close, her head leaning over his hand so that he could take in the fragrance of her hair and the nape of her neck, and without a word being said, his love reached the point of frenzy, of madness. He drew her close, first with one arm and then, when she resisted, with his other arm as well, pressing her long and fervently to his breast and almost lifting her off her feet. He felt her back yield, she was giving in. Heavy and delicious, she rested