"You look rather pale after the celebration last night," was the first
thing Mogens said.
"Good-morning," she replied and held out without turning around her
hand with the flowers in it towards him. Mogens took one of the
flowers. Laura turned the head half towards him, opened her hand
slightly and let the flowers fall to the floor in little lots. Then
she again busied herself with the vase.
"Ill?" asked Mogens.
"Tired."
"I won't eat breakfast with you to-day."
"No?"
"We can't have dinner together either."
"You are going fishing?"
"No--Good-by!"
"When are you coming back?"
"I am not coming back."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked arranging her gown; she went to
the window, and there sat down on the chair.
"I am tired of you. That's all."
"Now you are spiteful, what's the matter with you? What have I done to
you?"
"Nothing, but since we are neither married nor madly in love with each
other, I don't see anything very strange in the fact, that I am going
my own way."
"Are you jealous?" she asked very softly.
"Of one like you! I haven't lost my senses!"
"But what is the meaning of all this?"
"It means that I am tired of your beauty, that I know your voice and
your gestures by heart, and that neither your whims nor your stupidity
nor your craftiness can any longer entertain me. Can you tell me then
why I should stay?"
Laura wept. "Mogens, Mogens, how can you have the heart to do this?
Oh, what shall I, shall I, shall I, shall I do! Stay only today, only
to-day, Mogens.
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