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week when he was near death we had a nurse, but I sat up
just the same because I wanted to—although I was not really
needed.”
Jenny kissed Cesca’s forehead.
“There is one thing I have not told you, Jenny. You warned
me, you remember, to be more careful with men, and said I had
no instincts. Gunnar used to scold me, and Miss Linde said
once, don’t you remember, that if you make a man excited that
way he goes to somebody else.”
Jenny felt quite cold with fright for what was coming next.
“Well, I asked him something about that on this first
morning.”
Jenny could not say a word. “I understand that he cannot
forget it and perhaps not forgive, but I wish he would find an
excuse for me, remember how very stupidly I looked at it all.”
She hesitated, searching for words. “Our life has been so
horrid ever since. He does not really wish to kiss me—if he
ever does, it is almost against his will, and he is angry
afterwards with himself and with me. I have tried to explain, but
it is no good. To be quite honest, I don’t know what to make
of it all, but I do not mind anything any longer if I could only
make him happy. Anything that makes Lennert happy is
good and beautiful to me. He thinks that I sacrifice myself,
but it is no sacrifice—quite the contrary. Oh, I have cried
for nights and days in my room because I saw that he was
longing for my love, and I have tried to kiss him, but he pushes
me away.
“I am very fond of him, Jenny. Tell me, can’t one love a
man in that way too?—can I not say that I love Lennart?”
“Yes, Cesca.”
“You cannot think how desperate I have been. But I cannot
help being as I am. When we are out of an evening with
other artists I see that he is in a bad humour; he does not say
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