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have her coddle him, and he’d never meant it that way. He
wanted to rule, and she ’d have to mind him; he wanted
to give, and she should take. Of course he knew he didn’t
have anything to give, but that was no reason why she should
make nothing of him by giving to him. If she wouldn’t
go with him through fire and flood, they’d have to part.
He couldn’t stand this. She’d have to give herself into his
power and run away with him, she shouldn’t sit there and
be your ladyship and make him always look up to her. He
needed to have her be a dog with him—be poor, so he
could be good to her and have her thank him, and she must
be afraid of him and not have any one to put her trust in
but him.
A coach was heard driving in at the gate. They knew
it must be Palle Dyre, and Sören stole away to the
men-servants’ quarters.
Three of the men were sitting there on their beds, besides
the gamekeeper, Sören Jensen, who stood up.
“Why, there’s the baron!” said one of the men, as the
coachman came in.
“Hush, don’t let him hear you,” exclaimed the other with
mock anxiety.
“Ugh,” said the first speaker, “"I wouldn’t be in his shoes
fer ’s many rosenobles as you could stuff in a mill-sack.”
Sören looked around uneasily and sat down on a chest
that was standing against the wall.
“It must be an awful death,” put in the man who had
not yet spoken, and shuddered.
Sören Gamekeeper nodded gravely to him and sighed.
“What ’re you talkin’ about?” asked Sören with
pretended indifference.
No one answered.
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