“So your father is going to Russia?”
“What did you get up like that for, so quickly?” she asked.
“Because it is late, Edwarda,” I said. “Now the white flowers are
closing again. The sun is getting up; it will soon be day.”
I went with her through the woodland and stood watching her as long as I
could; far down, she turned round and softly called good-night. Then
she disappeared.
At the same moment the door of the blacksmith's house opened. A man with
a white shirt front came out, looked round, pulled his hat down farther
over his forehead, and took the road down to Sirilund.
Edwarda's good-night was still in my ears.