If it should happen to you that you are sitting or lying and reading this at night, as I am writing it during the silent hours, then do not draw a sigh of relief here and think that the good pensioners were allowed to have an undisturbed sleep, after they had come back with Marianne and made her a good bed in the best guest-room beyond the big drawing-room. They went to bed, and went to sleep, but it was not their lot to sleep in peace and quiet till noon, as you and I, dear reader, might have done, if we had been awake till four in the morning and our limbs ached with fatigue. It must not be forgotten that the old major’s wife went about the country with beggar’s wallet and stick, and that it never was her way, when she had anything to do, to think of a poor tired sinner’s convenience. And now she would do it even less, as she had decided to drive the pensioners that very night from Ekeby. Gone was the day when she sat in splendor and magnificence at Ekeby and sowed happiness over the earth, as God sows stars over the skies. And while she wandered homeless about the land, the authority and honor of the great estate was left in the pensioners’ hands to be guarded by them, as the wind guards ashes, as the spring sun guards the snow-drift. It sometimes happened that the pensioners drove out, six or eight of them, in a long sledge drawn by four horses, with chiming bells and braided reins. If they met the major’s wife, as she went as a beggar, they did not turn away their heads. Clenched fists were stretched against her. By a violent swing of the sledge, she was forced up into the drifts by the roadside, and Major Fuchs, the bear-killer, always took pains to spit three times to take away the evil effect of meeting the old woman. They had no pity on her. She was as odious as a witch to them as she went along the road. If any mishap had befallen her, they would no more have grieved than he who shoots off his gun on Easter Eve, loaded with brass hooks, grieves that he has hit a witch flying by. It was to secure their salvation that these unhappy pensioners persecuted the major’s wife. People have often been cruel and tortured one another with the greatest hardness, when they have trembled for their souls. When the pensioners late at night reeled from the drinking-tables to the window to see if the night was calm and clear, they often noticed a dark shadow, which glided over the grass, and knew that the major’s wife had come to see her beloved home; then the bachelors’ wing rang with the pensioners’ scornful laughter, and gibes flew from the open windows down to her. Verily, lovelessness and arrogance began to take possession of the penniless adventurers’ hearts. Sintram had planted hate. Their souls could not have been in greater danger if the major’s wife had remained at Ekeby. More die in flight than in battle. The major’s wife cherished no great anger against the pensioners.