Sigrid, too, no longer doubted; indeed, Blanche had altogether won her heart, and somehow, whenever they were together, the talk always drifted round to Frithiof’s past, or Frithiof’s future, or Frithiof’s opinions. She was very happy about it, for she felt sure that Blanche would be a charming sister-in-law, and love and hope seemed to have developed Frithiof in a wonderful way; he had suddenly grown manly and considerate, nor did Sigrid feel, as she had feared, that his new love interfered with his love for her. They were bright days for every one, those days at Balholm, with their merry excursions to the priest’s garden and the fir-woods, to the saeter on the mountain-side, and to grand old Munkeggen, whose heights towered above the little wooden hotel. Herr Falck, who had joined them toward the end of the week, and who climbed Munkeggen as energetically as any one, was well pleased to see the turn affairs had taken; and every one was kind, and discreetly left Frithiof and Blanche to themselves as they toiled up the mountain-side; indeed, Knut, the landlord’s brother, who as usual had courteously offered his services as guide, was so thoughtful for the two lovers who were lingering behind, that he remorselessly hurried up a stout old American lady, who panted after him, to that “Better resting-place,” which he always insisted was a little further on. “Will there be church to-morrow?” asked Blanche, as they rested half-way. “I should so like to go to a Norwegian service.” “There will be service at some church within reach,” said Frithiof; “but I do not much advise you to go; it will be very hot, and the place will be packed.” “Why? Are you such a religious people?” “The peasants are,” he replied. “And of course the women. Church-going and religion, that is for women; we men do not need that sort of thing.” She was a little startled by his matter-of-fact, unabashed tone. “What, are you an agnostic? an atheist?” she exclaimed. “No, no, not at all,” he said composedly. “I believe in a good Providence but with so much I am quite satisfied, you see. What does one need with more? To us men religion, church-going, is—is—how do you call it in English? I think you say ‘An awful bore,’ Is it not so?” The slang in foreign accent was irresistible. She was a little shocked, but she could not help laughing. “How you Norwegians speak out!” she exclaimed. “Many Englishmen feel that, but few would say it so plainly.” “So! I thought an Englishman was nothing if not candid. But for me I feel no shame. What more would one have than to make the most of life? That is my religion. I hear that in England there is a book to ask whether life is worth living? For me I can’t understand that sort of thing. It is a question that would never have occurred to me. Only to live is happiness enough. Life is such a very good thing. Do you not agree?” “Sometimes,” she said, rather wistfully. “Only sometimes? No, no, always—to the last breath!” cried Frithiof.