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full of longing for her that he would do nothing day and
night but think of her, until she never knew an hour’s
peace, and her health—don’t you remember, dear Mistress
Sidsel, how weak her eyesight was all the time Jörgen
Bille was from home?”
“Do I remember? Ah, the dear soul! But she bloomed
again like a rosebud. Bless me, her first lying-in—” and
she continued the subject in a whisper.
Rosenkrands turned to Axel Urup. “Then you believe,”
he said, “that an elixir d’ am-our is a fermenting juice poured
into the blood? That tallies well with a tale the late Mr.
Ulrik Christian told me one day we were on the ramparts
together. ’T was in Antwerp it happened—in the
Hotellerie des Trois Brochets, where he had lodgings. That
morning at ma-ass he had seen a fair, fair maid-en, and
she had looked quite kind-ly at him. All day long she was not
in his thoughts, but at night when he entered his chamber,
there was a rose at the head of the bed. He picked it up
and smelled it, and in the same mo-ment the coun-ter-feit
of the maiden stood before him as painted on the wall, and
he was seized with such sudden and fu-rious longing for
her that he could have cried aloud. He rushed out of the
house and into the street, and there he ran up and down,
wail-ing like one be-witched. Something seemed to draw
and draw him and burn like fire, and he never stopped till
day dawned.”
So they talked until the sun went down, and they parted
to go home through the darkening streets. Ulrik Frederik
joined but little in the general conversation; for he was
afraid that if he said anything about love, it might be taken
for reminiscences of his relation with Sofie Urne. Nor was
he in the mood for talking, and when he and Rosenkrands
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