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her place at the end of a bench where she sat leaning against
the edge of the long table running underneath the windows.
A tallow dip, in a yellow earthenware candlestick on the
gentlefolk’s table, cast a sleepy light over their faces, and
woke greasy reflections in a row of pewter plates ranged
above the stove. Marie had a small cup of warm wine
before her, Sti Högh a larger one, while the two Oldenborgers
were sharing a huge pot of ale, which they emptied again
and again, and which was as often filled by the slovenly
drawer, who lounged on the goose-bench at the farther end
of the room.
Marie and Sti Högh would both have preferred to go to
bed, for the two rustic noblemen were not very
stimulating company, and no doubt they would have gone, had not
the bedrooms been icy cold and the disadvantages of
heating them even worse than the cold, as they found when the
innkeeper brought in the braziers, for the peat in that part
of the country was so saturated with sulphur that no one
who was not accustomed to it could breathe where it was
burning.
The Oldenborgers were not merry, for they saw that
they were in very fine company, and tried hard to make
their conversation as elegant as possible; but as the ale
gained power over them, the rein they had kept on
themselves grew slacker and slacker, and was at last quite loose.
Their language took on a deeper local color, their
playfulness grew massive, and their questions impudent.
As the jokes became coarser and more insistent, Marie
stirred uneasily, and Sti’s eyes asked across the table whether
they should not retire. Just then the fairer of the two
strangers made a gross insinuation. Sti gave him a frown and
a threatening look, but this only egged him on, and he
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