Bj?rnstjerne Bj?rnson

Two years and a half passed, during the course of which Krog was at home several times, unaccompanied by the others. Then it was determined that they should all spend a summer at Krogskogen. With this project in view the three were in a draper's shop in Vienna. Mrs. Dawes and Marit were to have new clothes, Marit especially being in need of them, as she had grown out of hers. It was the first week of May; summer dresses were to be chosen.

"We think, both your father and I, that you must have long dresses now. You are so tall."

Marit looked at her father, but the materials which lay spread out in front of him engaged his attention. Mrs. Dawes spoke for him.

"Your father says that when you are walking with him, gentlemen look at your legs."

Krog began to fidget. Even the lady behind the counter felt that there was thunder in the air. She did not understand the language, but she saw the three faces. At last Anders heard Marit answering in a curious, but quite pleasant voice:

"Is it because Mother had long dresses when she was my age that I am to have them?"

Mrs. Dawes looked with dismay at Anders Krog; but he turned away.

"Aunt Eva," began Marit again; "of course you were with Mother then? at the time she got long dresses? Or was it Father?"

No more was said about long dresses. No more was said at all. They left the shop.

Nothing else happened. As if it had been a matter of course, next day, instead of coming to lessons, she drove with her father, first to arrange about the dresses, and then to the picture-galleries. They went sight-seeing every day until they left. There were no more lessons. In the evenings the three went, as if nothing had occurred, to concert, opera, or theatre. They wished to make good use of the remaining time.

At the beginning of June they were in Copenhagen. There a letter awaited them from "Uncle Klaus." JÖrgen Thiis, his adopted son, had received his commission as lieutenant; Klaus meant to give a summer ball at his country-house, but was waiting until they came home. When were they coming?

Marit was delighted at the prospect. She remembered handsome, tall JÖrgen. He was a son of the Amtmand[A]; his mother was Klaus Krog's sister.

[A] Chief magistrate of the district.

A ball-dress had now to be thought out; but the deliberations were short, nothing being said on the subject until they were on their way to order it. The one really exciting question: Ought not this dress to be long? they did not discuss. When the decisive moment arrived, and the length of the skirt was to be taken, the dressmaker who was measuring said: "I suppose the young lady's dress is to be long?" Marit looked at Mrs. Dawes, who turned red. What was worse, the dressmaker herself blushed. Then she hastily took the length of the short dress which Marit was wearing.

The ball was given on the 20th of June, a sultry day, without sun. The guests were assembled in the garden in front of the large country-house, when the sailing-boat came in which brought Marit and her father; they were the last to arrive. Old Klaus—tall, thin, wearing remarkably wide white trousers—stalked down to receive her. Standing hatless, with shining bald head and perspiring face, he stopped her with a motion of his hand whilst he looked down at Anders in the boat.

"Are you not coming?"

"No, no! Thanks all the same!"

Off went the boat. Not till now did Klaus look at Marit, whom Mrs. Dawes in her long letters had described as the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. He stared, he bowed, and approached her, reeking of tobacco, his big, smiling, open mouth disclosing unclean teeth. He offered his arm. But Marit, who was wearing a long sleeveless cloak which reached to the ground, pretended not to see this. Klaus was offended, but escorted her up to the others, saying as they arrived: "Here I come with the queen of the ball." This displeased her, and every one else, so the beginning was unfortunate. JÖrgen, whose place it was to do so, hastened forward to take her cloak and hat; but she bowed slightly and passed on. There was style in this! As soon as she was out of hearing, comment began. Her bearing in passing them, her face, carriage, gait, the dazzlingly white skin, the sparkling eyes, the arch above them, the shape of the nose—everything was perfect, and made a perfect whole. It was all over with JÖrgen Thiis. He himself was a tall, slender man of the Krog type, but with eyes peculiar to himself. At present these were fixed on the door through which Marit had disappeared. He was waiting on the steps.

And when she came out again and stepped forward to take his arm and be conducted down to the others, she was a sight to see—in a short dress of light sea-blue silky material, with transparent silk stockings of the same colour, and silvery shoes with antique buckles. The company were unanimous in admiration, and were still expressing it as they trooped in to take their places at the tables. Nor was the subject dropped there; Marit's beauty became the talk of the town. To think that these regular features and bright eyes, and that white, white skin should be framed in such a glory of red hair! And the whole was in perfect keeping with the tall figure, the slight forward inclination of the shoulders, and a bosom which, though not fully developed yet, nevertheless stood out distinct and free.

The arms, the wrists, the hips, the legs!—it became positively comical when a group of young men were heard maintaining with the utmost eagerness that the ankles were more superb than anything else. Such ankles had never been seen—so slender and so beautifully shaped—no, never!

JÖrgen Thiis forgot to speak; he even for a considerable time forgot to eat, though, as a rule, he liked nothing better. He followed Marit about like a sleep-walker. She was never to be seen without him behind her or at her side.

Her father and Mrs. Dawes had, on account of the ball, come in to the town house. They were awakened at dawn of day by loud talking and laughter outside, ending with cheers; the whole company had seen Marit home.

Next day the relations and friends of the Krog family came to call. The elder people who had been at the ball considered Marit to be the most beautiful creature they had ever seen. At nine o'clock in the evening old Klaus had rowed into town and trudged round for the express purpose of getting some of his friends to come out and see her.

In the afternoon JÖrgen presented himself in uniform, with new gloves. He had taken the liberty of calling to ask how Miss Krog was. But nothing had as yet been heard of that young lady.

When she did make her appearance, her mind was not occupied with yesterday, but with something quite different. This Mrs. Dawes felt at once. The queen of the ball told nothing about the ball. She contented herself with asking if they had been awakened. Then she went and had something to eat. When she came back, her father told her that JÖrgen had called to ask how she was. Marit smiled.

"Do you not like JÖrgen?" asked Mrs. Dawes.

"Yes."

"Why did you smile, then?"

"He ate so much."

"His father, the Amtmand, does the same," remarked Krog, laughing. "And he always picks out the daintiest morsels."

"Yes, exactly."

Mrs. Dawes sat waiting for what was to come next; for something was coming. Marit left the room; in a short time she appeared again with her hat on and a parasol in her hand.

"Are you going out?" asked Mrs. Dawes.

Marit was standing pulling on her gloves.

"I am going to order visiting-cards."

"Have you no cards?"

"Yes, but they are not suitable now."

"Why not?" said Mrs. Dawes, much surprised. "You thought them so pretty when we bought them, in Italy." "Yes—but what I don't think suits me any longer is the name."

"The name?"

Both looked up.

"I feel exactly as if it were no longer mine."

"Marit does not suit you?" said Mrs. Dawes.

Her father added gently: "It was your mother's name."

Marit did not answer at once; she felt the dismay in her father's eyes.

"What do you wish to be called, then, child?" It was again Mrs. Dawes who spoke.

"Mary."

"Mary?"

"Yes. That suits better, it seems to me."

The silent astonishment of her companions evidently troubled her. She added:

"Besides, we are going to America now. There they say Mary."

"But you were baptised Marit," put in her father at last.

"What does that matter?"

"It stands in your certificate of baptism, child," added Mrs. Dawes; "it is your name."

"Yes, it is in the certificate, no doubt—but not in me." The others stared.

"This grieves your father, child."

"Father is welcome to go on calling me Marit."

Mrs. Dawes looked at her sorrowfully, but said no more. Marit had finished putting on her gloves.

"In America I am called Mary. I know that. Here is a specimen card. It looks nice; doesn't it?"

She drew a very small card from her card-case. Mrs. Dawes looked at it, then handed it to Anders. Upon it was inscribed in minute Italian characters:

Mary Krog.

Anders looked at it, looked long; then laid it on the table, took up his newspaper, and sat as if he were reading.

"I am sorry, Father, that you take it in this way."

Anders Krog said once more, gently, without looking up from his newspaper: "Marit is your mother's name."

"I, too, am fond of Mother's name. But it does not suit me."

She quietly left the room. Mrs. Dawes, who was sitting at the window, watched her going along the street. Anders Krog laid down the newspaper; he could not read. Mrs. Dawes made an attempt to comfort him. "There is something in what she says; Marit no longer suits her."

"Her mother's name," repeated Anders Krog; and the tears fell.