en again. Her
mother looked at her and asked what was the matter. "Nothing," said
Leopoldine.

Nothing, no, of course. But now, look you, 'twas Leopoldine's turn to
be affected, to begin the same eternal round. She was well fitted
for the same, overgrown and pretty and newly confirmed; an excellent
sacrifice she would make. A bird is fluttering in her young breast,
her long hands are like her mother's, full of tenderness, full of sex.
Could she dance?--ay, indeed she could. A marvel where she had managed
to learn it, but learn it they did at Sellanraa as well as elsewhere.
Sivert could dance, and Leopoldine too; a kind of dancing peculiar
to the spot, growth of the new-cleared soil; a dance with energy and
swing: schottische, mazurka, waltz and polka in one. And could not
Leopoldine deck herself out and fall in love and dream by daylight all
awake? Ay, as well as any other! The day she stood in church she was
allowed to borrow her mother's gold ring to wear; no sin in that,
'twas only neat and nice; and the day after, going to her communion,
she did not get the ring on till it was over. Ay, she might well show
herself in church with a gold ring on her finger, being the daughter
of a great man on the place--the Margrave.

When Andresen came down from the mine, he found Isak at Sellanraa, and
they asked him in, gave him dinner and a cup of coffee. All the
folk on the place were in there together now, and took part in the
conversation. Andresen explained that his master, Aronsen, had sent
him up to see how things were at the mines, if there was any sign of
beginning work there again soon. Heaven knows, maybe Andresen sat
there lying all the time, about being sent by his master; he might
just as well have hit on it for his own account--and anyway, he
couldn't have been at the mines at all in the little time he'd been
away.

"'Tis none so easy to see from outside if they're going to start work
again," said Isak.

No, Andresen admitted that was so; but Aronsen had sent him, and after
all, two pair of eyes could see better than one.

But here Inger seemingly could contain herself no longer; she asked:
"Is it true what they're saying, Aronsen is going to sell his place
again?"

Andresen answers: "He's thinking of it. And a man like him can surely
do as he likes, seeing all the means and riches he's got."

"Ho, is he so rich, then?"

"Ay," says Andresen, nodding his head; "rich enough, and that's a true
word."

Aga