“If you came over to us, now, there’s more society. The Doctor’s next door, and the cashier, and all the assistants from the store. And there are always some queer people coming in--sea-captains, you know, and that sort.” “Captain Henriksen of the coasting steamer,” thought Rolandsen to himself. But what was the meaning of all this graciousness coming so suddenly? Was Rolandsen another man to-day than yesterday? He knew well enough that he was utterly and entirely hopeless in this foolish love of his; there was no more to be said. She gave him her hand as she rose to go, and that without first putting on her glove. There was a rustle of silk as she swept down the steps. Rolandsen drew up to the table, a threadbare, stooping figure, and sent off the wires. His breast was a whirl of strange feelings. All things considered, he was not so desperately off after all; the invention might bring in a heavy sum if only he could first get hold of three hundred _Daler_. He was a bankrupt millionaire. But surely he must be able to find some way.... The _Præstefruen_ came in, with a telegram to her people. Rolandsen had gathered courage from the previous visit. He no longer felt himself as an insignificant next-to-nothing, but the equal of other great men; he talked to Fruen a little, just a word or so in the ordinary way. And Fruen, on her part, stayed somewhat longer than was strictly necessary, and asked him to look in at the Vicarage any time. That evening he met her again, Fruen herself, on the road just below the station. And she did not hurry away, but stayed talking a little while. It could hardly be displeasing to her, since she stayed so. “You play the guitar, I think,” she said. “Yes. If you like to wait a little, I’ll show you how well I can play.” And he went inside to fetch his guitar. Fruen waited. It could not be altogether displeasing to her, since she waited so. And Rolandsen sang for her, of his true love and his heart’s delight; and the songs were nothing wonderful, but his voice was fine and full. Rolandsen had a purpose of his own in thus keeping her there in the middle of the road; there was every chance that someone might come walking by about that time. Such things had happened before. And if Fruen had been pressed for time, it would have been awkward for her now; they fell to talking again, and stayed talking some time. This Rolandsen spoke in a way of his own, altogether different from her husband’s manner, as if it were from some other part of the world. And when he rolled out his most magnificent phrases, her eyes rounded wide as those of a listening child. “Well, God be with you”[4] she said at last, turning to go. [4] _Gud vare med Dem._ The expression is often used, with no more special significance than our own abbreviation of the same words in “Good-bye.” But Rolandsen here chooses to take it literally. “So He is, I’m sure,” answered Rolandsen. She started. “Are you sure of that? How?”