"You must blame your husband," I said. "It's his fault that I'm here."
"I wish you heartily welcome," she returned. "How lucky I've just got
through the cleaning!"
A slight pause. We looked at each other; two years had passed since our
last meeting. To break the silence, we all began to admire the mare,
Nikolai swelling with pride. Then we heard a child calling from within the
house, and the young mother ran off.
"Come in, won't you!" she called back over her shoulder.
As soon as I entered, I saw that the room had been changed. There was too
much middle-class frippery: white curtains at the windows, numerous
pictures on the walls, a lamp pendent from the ceiling, underneath it in
the center of the room a round table and chairs, knickknacks in a china
cupboard, a pink-painted spinning wheel, flowers in pots--in short, the
room was crowded. This, no doubt, was the sort of thing Fru Ingeborg had
been used to and considered in good taste. But in Petra's day, this had
been a light and spacious room.
"How's your mother?" I asked Nikolai.
As usual he was slow to reply. His wife answered for him:
"She's very well."