Pan Part 23

I greeted her aloud, and she looked up, but did not answer. It occurred to me that I could not ask for bread while she was there; I turned to the a.s.sistants and asked for powder and shot. While they were weighing it out, I watched her.

A grey dress, much too small for her, with the b.u.t.tonholes worn; her flat breast heaved restlessly. How she had grown that summer! Her brow was knit in thought; those strangely curved eyebrows stood in her face like two riddles; all her movements were grown more mature. I looked at her hands; the contour of her long, delicate fingers moved me violently, made me tremble. She was still turning over the stuffs.

I stood wishing that aesop would run to her behind the counter--then I could call him back at once and apologise. What would she say then?

"Here you are," said the storekeeper.

I paid for the things, took up my parcels, and took my leave of her. She looked up, but again without speaking. Good, I thought to myself. She is the Baron's bride already, as like as not. And I went, without my bread.

When I got outside, I looked up at the window. No one was watching me.

x.x.xIII

Then one night the snow came, and it began to be cold in my hut. There was a fireplace where I cooked my food, but the wood burned poorly and it was very draughty, though I had caulked the walls as well as I could.

The autumn was past, and the days were growing shorter. The first snow was still melting under the rays of the sun. Presently the ground was bare again, but the nights were cold, and the water froze. And all the gra.s.s and all the insects died.

A secret stillness fell upon people; they pondered and were silent; their eyes awaited the winter. No more calling from the drying grounds: the harbour lay quiet. Everything was moving towards the eternal winter of the northern lights, when the sun sleeps in the sea. Dull came the sound of the oars from a lonely boat.

A girl came rowing.

"Where have you been, my girl?"

"Nowhere."

"Nowhere? Look, I recognize you: I met you last summer."

She brought the boat in, stepped ash.o.r.e, made fast.

"You were herding goats. You stopped to fasten your stocking. I met you one night."

A little flush rose to her cheeks, and she laughed shyly.

"Little goat-girl, come into the hut and let me look at you. I knew your name, too--it is Henriette."

But she walked past me without speaking. The autumn, the winter, had laid hold of her too; her senses drowsed.

Already the sun had gone to sea.

x.x.xIV

And I put on my uniform for the first time, and went down to Sirilund.

My heart was beating.

I remembered everything from the day when Edwarda had come hurrying to me and embraced me before them all. Now she had thrown me hither and thither for many months, and made my hair turn grey. My own fault? Yes, my star had led me astray. I thought: How she would chuckle if I were to throw myself at her feet and tell her the secret of my heart to-day!

She would offer me a chair and have wine brought in, and just as she was raising the gla.s.s to her lips to drink with me, she would say: "Lieutenant, I thank you for the time we have been together. I shall never forget it!" But when I grew glad and felt a little hope, she'd pretend to drink, and set down the gla.s.s untouched. And she wouldn't hide from me that she'd only been pretending to drink; she'd be careful to let me see it. That was her way.

Good--it was nearing the last hour now.

And as I walked down the road I thought further: My uniform will impress her; the trappings are new and handsome. The sword will rattle against the floor. A nervous joy thrilled me, and I whispered to myself: Who knows what may happen yet? I raised my head and threw out a hand. No more humility now--a man's honour and pride! Whatever came of it, I would make no more advances now. Pardon me, my fair one, for not asking your hand...

Herr Mack met me in the courtyard, greyer still, more hollow-eyed.

"Going away? So? I suppose you've not been very comfortable lately, eh?

Your hut burned down..." And Herr Mack smiled.

In a moment it seemed as if the wisest man in the world stood before my eyes.

"Go indoors, Lieutenant; Edwarda is there. Well, I will say good-bye.

See you on the quay, I suppose, when the vessel sails." He walked off, with head bowed in thought, whistling.

Edwarda was sitting indoors, reading. At the instant of my entering, she started at my uniform; she looked at me sideways like a bird, and even blushed. She opened her mouth.

"I have come to say good-bye," I managed to get out at last.

She rose quickly to her feet, and I saw that my words had had some effect.

"Glahn, are you going away? Now?"

"As soon as the boat comes." I grasped her hand--both her hands--a senseless delight took possession of me--I burst out, "Edwarda!" and stared at her.

And in a moment she was cold--cold and defiant. Her whole being resisted me; she drew herself up. I found myself standing like a beggar before her. I loosed her hand and let her go. I remember that from that moment I stood repeating mechanically: "Edwarda, Edwarda!" again and again without thinking, and when she asked: "Yes? What were you going to say?" I explained nothing.

"To think you are going already," she said again. "Who will come next year, I wonder?"

"Another," I answered. "The hut will be built up again, no doubt."

Pause. She was already reaching for her book.

"I am sorry my father is not in," she said. "But I will tell him you were here."

I made no answer to this. I stepped forward, took her hand once more, and said:

_"Farvel,_ Edwarda."

_"Farvel,"_ she answered.

I opened the door as if to go. Already she was sitting with the book in her hand, reading--actually reading and turning the page. Nothing affected, not the least in the world affected by my saying good-bye.

I coughed.