Then I went out and got into my cab again. The time passes, a whole hour; the cabman wants to know if I do not feel cold? Well, yes, a little. Was I waiting for some one? Yes.... He hands me down his rug from the box, and I tip him the price of a drink for his thoughtfulness. Time goes on; hour after hour. The cabmen talk unrestrainedly now, saying openly one to another that I'm letting the horse freeze to death. No, it was no good. I paid for the cab, went home, and wrote the following letter: “You would not let me write to you; will you not let me see you once again? I will ask for you at the hotel at five to-morrow afternoon.” Should I have fixed an earlier hour? But the light in the forenoon was so white; if I felt moved and my mouth twitched, I should look a dreadful sight. I took the letter round myself to the hotel, and went home again. A long night--oh, how long were those hours! Now, when I ought to sleep and stretch myself and feel refreshed, I could not. Day dawned, and I got up. After a long ramble through the streets I came back home again, and slept. Hours pass. When I awake and come to my senses, I hurry anxiously to the telephone to ask if Fruen had left. No, Fruen had not left. Thank Heaven then, it seemed she did not wish to run away from me; she must have had my letter long since. No; I had called at an awkward hour the evening before, that was all. I had something to eat, lay down, and slept again. When I woke it was past noon. I stumble in to the telephone again and ring up as before. No, Fruen had not left yet. But her things were packed. She was out just now. I got ready at once, and hurried round to Raadhusgaten to stand on watch. In the course of half an hour I saw a number of people pass in and out, not the one I sought. It was five o'clock now, and I went in and spoke to the porter. Fruen was gone. Gone? “Was it you that rang up? She came just at that moment and took her things. But I've a letter here.” I took the letter, and, without opening it, asked about the train. “Train left at 4.45,” says the porter, looking at his watch. “It's five now.” I had thrown away half an hour keeping watch outside. I sit down on one of the steps, staring at the floor. The porter keeps on talking. He must be well aware it was not my sister. “I said to Fruen there was a gentleman had just rung up. But she only said she hadn't time, and would I give him this letter.” “Was there another lady with her when she left?” “No.” I got up and went out. In the street I opened the letter and read: “You _must_ not follow me about any more--” Impassively I put the thing away. It had not surprised me, had made no new impression. Thoroughly womanly, hasty words, written on impulse, with underlining and a dash.... Then it occurred to me to go round to Frøken Elisabeth's address; there was still a glimmer of hope. I heard the door bell ring inside the house as I pressed, and stood listening as in a whirling desert.