Immediately he went and danced with Fru Kule, and remarked with much surprise that she was his landlady. Was she aware of that? Was that why she had chosen him to dance with before? She felt as if she were taken in the act of committing a crime, but could think of no excuse to make. "But why did you not tell me who you were?" continued he, insisting. She felt still more overwhelmed by this fresh sin of having kept silence, and could not possibly get out a word. Then he said, rather rudely and impatiently: "Perhaps you have some difficulty in speaking?" She turned very pale; there was something unspeakably unhappy in her startled look. His rudeness was the natural consequence of his contempt for anyone who could lower themselves by such a marriage as hers was. But his sympathy was so thoroughly aroused by her pallor and helplessness that he hastened to say: "To be sure, I know that you possess the gift of a language which is easier for you than for most people--" and so he talked on in an easy, natural way about her music, made her sit down, told her that he had heard her play, and that Rendalen was such a competent judge; he turned the conversation upon all the world-renowned artists he had ever heard, and succeeded in making her join in; of course she had heard so many of them. By degrees she gained so much confidence that she even ventured to ask after Rendalen; she had not seen him at all since he had moved. He was all right, and then he described all Rendalen's peculiarities till she was obliged to laugh. She did not look "stupid" when she laughed, far from it. For a moment, too, there was a gleam in the eyes as of "many rays." "Why did Rendalen move?" asked she, and there was something of the singing Norland accent in her voice too, but less that in her sister's. It was rather a weak voice, but at the same time so very sweet. He answered her with a question. But no, she knew nothing; and then she looked full at him; those were eyes! "Was it about the room?" "About the room?" repeated he. "Yes, I mean when he heard that my aunt wanted to live here--my husband's aunt," she added, correcting herself, and suddenly she became shy again. "Had they given him notice to leave?" "No, certainly not." "Then he could not possibly be offended." She quite agreed to that too. But Rendalen had never even been to say good-by. She never quite got rid of her shyness; it suited her though, as sometimes a veil can suit a face. "Did you see much of his mother?" "Yes," said she, and smiled. "Why do you smile?"