sing
anything twice running; so they relinquished the idea.

Ella had never heard the song; neither words nor music. When, with his
eyes turned in her direction, he had begun to sing, she felt as though
she should fall; such unheard-of boldness she had never imagined. That
he, otherwise so considerate, should sing this across to her, so that
all could hear! White as the wall against which she leaned for
support, she suffered such anguish of mind, that she looked round for
help. Immediately behind her, on the same bench, stood Fru Holmbo,
magnetised, beautiful as a statue. She no more saw Ella's distress
than she did the clock in the market-place. This absolute indifference
calmed her, she recovered her self-possession. The neighbourhood of
the others, which had been so terrible to her, was of no consequence,
so long as they did not perceive anything. She could listen now
without distress. More covertly, more charmingly, he could not have
spoken, notwithstanding that every one heard it. If only he had not
looked at her! If only she had been able to hide herself!

As soon as the last notes ceased, she jumped down from the bench.
Among all the shoulders her shyness returned--her happy dream, her
secret in its bridal attire. What was it that had happened? What would
happen next? All round her were sparkling eyes, applauding voices,
clapping hands--was it not as though they lighted torches in his
honour, paid him homage--was not all this in her honour as well?

Dancing began again at once, and off she went. Off as though all were
done for her, or as though she were the "only one!" Her partners
tried, one after another, to talk to her, but in vain. She only
laughed, laughed in their faces, as though they were mad, and she
alone understood the state of the case.

She danced, beamed, laughed, from one partner to another. So when
Olsen got his waltz it was as though he were received with a score of
fresh bouquets and a "Long live Hjalmar Olsen!" He was more than
flattered. When she laid her white arm on his black coat he felt that
at the bottom he was as unworthy as Peter Klausson. He certainly would
not sully her, he held her punctiliously away from him. When he
fancied that she was laughing, and wished to see the little creature's
merry face, down there near his waistcoat, and in the endeavour to do
so, thought that he had been indiscreet, Hjalmar Olsen felt ashamed of
himself, and danced on with his eyes staring straight