replied; "but when you come again. You must help
me--if you believe it to be right to do so."

"Of course."

"Because you, I know, think in many particulars as Atlung does. He will
listen to _you_."

"Do you think so?"

"He will not listen to me, at all events."

"Did you ever make an effort to be heard?"

"No, that would be the worst thing I could do. With Atlung everything
must come as by chance."

"But, dear me! I noticed that on the whole you seemed to hold most
blessed relations with each other."

"Yes, to be sure we do! We often amuse ourselves exceedingly well
together."

I had a feeling that she did not wish me to look at her, and I had
turned away, so that I sat with my side to the table as before. The
twilight deepened about us.

"You remember us, I dare say, as we were in Dresden?"

"Yes."

"We were two young people who were playing with life; it had been very
amusing to be engaged, but to be married must be still more diverting,
and then to come home and keep house, oh! so immensely entertaining; but
not equal to having children. Well, here I am now with a house which I
am utterly powerless to manage, and two children which neither of us can
educate; at least Atlung thinks so."

"But do not you try to take hold?"

"Of the house, do you mean?"

"Well, yes, of the house."

"Dear me! of what use would that be? I usually get a scolding when I
try."

"But you have plenty of help, I suppose?"

"Yes, that is just the misfortune."

I was about to ask what she meant by this when the dining-room door was
noiselessly opened; Stina entered with the lamps. She passed in and out
two or three times; but the large room was far from being lighted by the
lamps she brought in. Meanwhile, conversation ceased.

When Stina was about to leave, Fru Atlung asked for the children. Stina
informed her they were being searched for; they were not on the gard.
The mother paid no further attention to this, and Stina left the room.

"Who is Stina?" I asked, as the door closed behind her.

"Oh, she is a very unhappy person. She had a drunken father who beat
her, and afterwards she had a husband, a bank cashier, who also became a
hard drinker and beat her. Now he is dead."

"Has she been here long?"

"Since before my first child was born."

"But this is sad company for you, my dear lady."

"Yes, she is not _very_ enlivening."

"Then most surely she should be sent away."

"That would be contrary to the tr