The wily Rolandsen had touched her there. And then all at once he forgot every thought of paying her out, and murmured: “I only meant to give you the only thing I had.” And with that he raised his hat and bowed deeply, and walked away. He walked away to the parish clerk’s in search of Olga. The spring was come, and Rolandsen must have a lady-love; ’twas no light thing to rule such a big heart. But apart from that he was paying attention to Olga with a purpose. There was some talk about Frederik Mack, how he had an eye to Olga himself. And Rolandsen meant to cut him out, no less. Frederik was brother to Elise herself, and it would do the family good if one of them were jilted. But anyhow, Olga was attractive enough in herself. Rolandsen had seen her grow up from a slip of a child; there was little money to spare in the home, and she had to wear her clothes as far as they would go before getting new things; but she was a bright, pretty girl, and her shyness was charming. Rolandsen had met her two days in succession. The only way to manage it was by going straight up to the house and lending her father a book every day. He had to force these books on the old man, who had never asked for them and could not understand them. Rolandsen had to speak up for his books and plead their cause. They were the most useful books in the world, he said, and he, Rolandsen, was bent on making them known, on spreading them abroad. _Værsaagod_![3] [3] Literally, “Be so good” (as to accept ...), used when offering anything. He asked the old man if he could cut hair. But the parish clerk had never cut hair in his life; Olga did all the hair-cutting in the house. Whereupon Rolandsen addressed himself to Olga, with prayers and eloquent entreaties, to cut his hair. Olga blushed and hid herself. “I couldn’t,” she said. But Rolandsen routed her out again, and overwhelmed her with irresistible words until she agreed. “How do you like it done?” she asked. “Just as you like,” he answered. “As if I could think of having it otherwise.” Then, turning to her father, he tangled him up in a maze of intricate questions, until the old man could stand no more, and at last withdrew to the kitchen. Rolandsen, elated, grew more extravagant than ever. He turned to Olga and said: “When you go out in the dark on a winter evening and come into a lighted room, then all the light comes hurrying from everywhere to gather in your eyes.” Olga did not understand a word of all this, but said, “Yes.” “Yes,” said Rolandsen, “and it’s the same with me when I come in and see you.” “Is it short enough here now?” asked Olga. “No, not nearly. Just keep on. Do it just the way you like. Ah, you thought you could slip away and hide--didn’t you?--but you couldn’t. It was like the lightning putting out a spark.” Of all the mad talk.... “I could manage better if you’d keep your head still,” said she. “Then I can’t look at you. Say, Olga, have you a sweetheart?”