ly for a minute, may I? No, no; there, I am
not to do it then, I see. You are getting afraid. I will not, I will
not do it; do you hear? Lord, why do you get so terrified. I am
standing quite still; I am not moving. I would have knelt down on the
carpet for a moment--just there, upon that patch of red, at your feet;
but you got frightened--I could see it at once in your eyes that you
got frightened; that was why I stood still. I didn't move a step when I
asked you might I, did I? I stood just as immovable as I stand now when
I point out the place to you where I would have knelt before you, over
there on the crimson rose in the carpet. I don't even point with my
finger. I don't point at all; I let it be, not to frighten you. I only
nod and look over at it, like this! and you know perfectly well which
rose I mean, but you won't let me kneel there. You are afraid of me,
and dare not come near to me. I cannot conceive how you could have the
heart to call me insane. It isn't true; you don't believe it, either,
any longer? It was once in the summer, a long time ago, I was mad; I
worked too hard, and forgot to go to dine at the right hour, when I had
too much to think about. That happened day after day. I ought to have
remembered it; but I went on forgetting it--by God in Heaven, it is
true! God keep me from ever coming alive from this spot if I lie.
There, you can see, you do me an injustice. It was not out of need I
did it; I can get credit, much credit, at Ingebret's or Gravesen's. I
often, too, had a good deal of money in my pocket, and did not buy food
all the same, because I forgot it. Do you hear? You don't say anything;
you don't answer; you don't stir a bit from the fire; you just stand
and wait for me to go...."

She came hurriedly over to me, and stretched out her hand. I looked at
her, full of mistrust. Did she do it with any true heartiness, or did
she only do it to get rid of me? She wound her arms round my neck; she
had tears in her eyes; I only stood and looked at her. She offered her
mouth; I couldn't believe in her; it was quite certain she was making a
sacrifice as a means of putting an end to all this.

She said something; it sounded to me like, "I am fond of you, in spite
of all." She said it very lowly and indistinctly; maybe I did not hear
aright. She may not have said just those words; but she cast herself
impetuously against my breast, clasped both her arms about my neck for
a little while, stretched