The things we do!

It must be she, I say to myself; she is
feeling uneasy, and has rung for the maid. I move away from her door, to
avoid any awkwardness for her, and, when the maid comes, I walk past as if
going downstairs. Then the maid says, "Yes, the maid," and the door is
opened.
"No, no." says the maid; "only a gentleman going downstairs."
I thought of taking a room at the hotel, but the idea was distasteful to
me; she was not a runaway wife meeting commercial travellers. When I came
down, I remarked to the porter as I passed that Fruen seemed to be lying
down.
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.


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