Sandsgaard, with its large and lofty rooms, where the furniture was all arranged round the walls, was so cold and stiff that Madeleine could not help feeling she must move about noiselessly, or sit demurely in a corner.  At Fanny’s her feelings were very different; everything seemed so inviting; and the difficulty was to choose a seat among the many comfortable armchairs and sofas.

Morten never seemed to be perfectly at home in his own house, where his heavy form was quite out of place.  Fanny took but little notice of him, and his opinion was never consulted.  However, he was easy-going, and preferred to keep pretty much to himself.

Morten Garman had the reputation of being a good-natured fellow, but at the same time of not being very easy to get on with.  To do business with him required the greatest circumspection; a single word might spoil everything, and if once anything upset him, it was almost impossible to get him right again.  Old-fashioned people, therefore, preferred going out to Sandsgaard, and dealing with the young Consul personally; it was a slower process, but the result might be reckoned on with the greatest certainty.  The young man had a habit of suddenly looking at his watch, breaking off the negotiations, getting into his carriage, and driving off to Sandsgaard or elsewhere, leaving behind him nothing but loose statements and half-concluded business.

Fanny had never troubled her husband with any demonstrative affection, and certainly never with jealousy.  She understood him well enough to know that if at any time she should have occasion for his forbearance, there were quite faults enough on his side to weigh down the balance in her favour.

“There goes your admirer, Pastor Martens.  Look, Madeleine, how he is eyeing us, the worthy man!  He is taking off his hat.—­Good morning,” said Fanny, bowing, and at the same time beckoning to him to come in.

The pastor was at the other side of the narrow street, and seemed to consider a moment before he made up his mind to cross.  In the mean time Fanny rang the bell and ordered chocolate.  She dearly loved these morning visits, with a cup of chocolate or a glass of wine, and accordingly always kept her eye upon the street.  Martens, who was the resident chaplain, was among her most frequent guests, especially since she had taken it into her head that he admired Madeleine.  There was nothing remarkable that Fanny should have her attention taken up in finding a suitable parti for the chaplain.  The whole congregation was, in fact, busy in the same direction; for Martens was a man of about thirty, not otherwise than prepossessing in appearance, and it was now more than a year and a half since he had lost his first wife, so that nothing could be more natural than that he should be thinking about another.

“Good morning, ladies; good morning, Miss Garman.  I hope you are both well,” said the chaplain, as he came into the room.  “I could not resist your kind invitation, although I knew by experience that a visit to you is far too agreeable to be of very short duration.”