This was all Madeleine found out, and she did not ask any more questions on the subject, which was a relief to Miss Cordsen.

The old lady’s story was, however, not Strictly correct in its details; a secret of the Garman family was hid in the sempstress’s history—­a secret which Miss Cordsen concealed with the greatest jealousy.

As Marianne went home that evening this event came into her thoughts; it was, in fact, never entirely absent from them.  The bright and friendly manner of Madeleine, who was so unlike the rest of her family, had awoke in her many reminiscences.  She felt quite sure that Madeleine did not as yet know all her history; it was impossible that she could know it, for she seemed so kindly disposed towards her, and Marianne dreaded that any one should tell her.  There were, indeed, plenty of people who could tell her story, but none knew what she had suffered.  As she went on her way all the sad events of her life’s misfortune seemed to pass in review before her.  Her first thought was, how handsome he looked when he came home from abroad, before there was any talk about his marriage with the magistrate’s daughter! how long he had prayed and tormented her, and how long she had striven against him; and then came the dreadful day, when she had been called into the Consul’s private office.  She never could imagine how any one had found it out; the only one who could know anything was Miss Cordsen:  but still less could she now understand how she had allowed herself to be talked over, and compelled to agree to what had since been arranged.  There must be truth in what people said, that it was impossible to resist the young Consul, and so she allowed herself to be betrothed to Christian Kusk, one of the worst men she knew, who shortly after went to America; then the child was born, and was christened Christian.  Then again she recalled that night when the child died; but all further impressions became indistinct and hazy as mist.  She had hoped that her shame might kill her, but it had only tortured her.  To Sandsgaard, where she had vowed never again to set her foot, she now went daily.  Whenever she chanced to meet one of the family, and especially Fanny, her heart seemed to cease beating; but they passed her with as much unconcern as if they knew nothing, or as if she had nothing to do with them.

Many a time also she had met him.  At first they passed each other hurriedly, but after a time he also seemed to have forgotten, and now he greeted her with a friendly nod, and the well-known voice said, “How are you, Marianne?”

It was as if these people lived surrounded by a thick wall of indifference, against which her tiny existence was shattered like fragile glass.

Marianne took a short cut through the ship-yard, where the carpenters were busy dividing the shavings and putting them into sacks.  She found her grandfather, who had finished his work in the pitch-house, and they set off homewards together.