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127

(1921) Author: Sigrid Undset
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II



Jenny had hired a studio and was arranging it to her
taste. Kalfatrus came in the afternoons and helped her.

“You have grown so tall that I almost thought I could
not call you by the old name any longer.”

The boy laughed.

Jenny asked about all his doings while she had been away,
and Nils told her of the extraordinary adventures he and
two boy friends had had while they lived for some weeks in
the log huts in Nordmarken. As she listened, it crossed her
mind that her trips up there with him were now things of
the past.

She went in the mornings to the outskirts of the city — to
walk by herself in the sunshine. The fields lay yellow with
dead grass, there was still snow under the pines, but tiny buds
were coming out on the foliage trees and from underneath the
dead leaves peeped downy shoots of the blue anemone. She
read Helge’s letters again and again; she carried them about her
wherever she went. She longed for him impatiently, madly —
longed to see him and touch him and convince herself that he
was hers.

She had been back twelve days and had not yet been to see
his parents; when he asked her a third time if she had been, she
made up her mind to go next day. The weather had changed
in the night; a strong north wind was blowing, the sun shone
with a sharp light, and clouds of dust were whirling in the
streets. Then came a hail-storm so violent that she had to
take refuge in a doorway. The hard white grains rebounded
from the pavement on to her shoes and frivolous summer
stockings. Next moment the sun came out again.

The Grams lived in Welhavensgate. At the corner Jenny
stopped for a moment to look about; the two rows of grey houses

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