On the same afternoon on which her husband had attended the meeting of the Marine Insurance Society "Triton," Mrs. Falk for the first time wore a new blue velvet dress, with which she was eager to arouse the envy of Mrs. Homan, who lived in the house opposite. Nothing was easier or more simple; all she had to do was to show herself every now and then at the window while she supervised the preparations in her room, intended to "crush" her guests, whom she expected at seven. The Administrative Committee of the CrÈche "Bethlehem" was to meet and examine the first monthly report; it consisted of Mrs. Homan, whose husband, the controller, Mrs. Falk suspected of pride because he was a Government official; Lady Rehnhjelm whom she suspected of the same failing because of her title, and the Rev. Skore, who was private chaplain of all the great families. The whole committee was to be crushed and crushed in the sweetest possible manner.

The new setting for the scene had already been displayed at the big party. All the old pieces which were neither antique nor possessed of any artistic value had been replaced by brand new furniture. Mrs. Falk intended to manage the actors in the little play until the close of the proceedings, when her husband would arrive upon the scene with an admiral—he had promised his wife at least an admiral in full-dress uniform. Both were to crave admission to the society. Falk was to enlarge the funds of the society on the spot by handing over to it a part of the sum which he had been earning so easily as shareholder of the "Triton."

Mrs. Falk had finished with the window and was now arranging the rosewood table, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, on which the proofs of the monthly report were to be laid. She dusted the agate inkstand, placed the silver penholder on the tortoiseshell rack, turned up the seal of the chrysoprase handle so as to hide her commoner's name, cautiously shook the cash-box made of the finest steel wire, so that the value of the few bank-notes it contained could be plainly read. Finally, having given her last orders to the footman dressed up for the parade, she sat down in her drawing-room in the careless attitude in which she desired that the announcement of her friend, the controller's wife, should discover her; Mrs. Homan would be sure to be the first to arrive.

She did arrive first. Mrs. Falk embraced Evelyn and kissed her on the cheek, and Mrs. Homan embraced Eugenia, who received her in the dining-room and retained her there for a few moments in order to ask her opinion of the new furniture. Mrs. Homan wasted no time on the solid oak sideboard dating from the time of Charles XII, with the tall Japanese vases, because she felt small by the side of it; she looked at the chandelier which she found too modern, and the dining-table, which, she said, was not in keeping with the prevailing style; in addition to this she considered that the oleographs were out of place among the old family portraits, and took quite a long time to explain the difference between an oil painting and an oleograph. Mrs. Falk's new silk-lined velvet dress swished against every corner within reach without succeeding in attracting her friend's attention. She asked her whether she liked the new Brussels carpet in the drawing-room; Mrs. Homan thought it contrasted too crudely with the curtains; at last Mrs. Falk felt annoyed with her and dropped her questions.

They sat down at the drawing-room table, clutching at life-buoys in the guise of photographs, unreadable volumes of verse, and so on. A little pamphlet fell into Mrs. Homan's hands; it was printed on gold-edged pink paper and bore the title: "To the wholesale merchant Nicholas Falk, on his fortieth birthday."

"Ah! These are the verses which were read at your party! Who wrote them?"

"A very clever man, a friend of my husband's. His name's NystrÖm."

"Hm! How queer that his name should be quite unknown! Such a clever man! But why wasn't he at your party?"

"Unfortunately he was ill, my dear; so he couldn't come."

"I see! But, my dear Eugenia, isn't it awfully sad about your brother-in-law? I hear he's so very badly off."

"Don't mention him! He's a disgrace and a grief to the whole family! It's terrible!"

"Yes; it was quite unpleasant when everybody asked about him at your party. I was so sorry for you, dear...."

This is for the oak sideboard, dating from the time of Charles XII, and the Japanese vases, thought the controller's wife.

"For me! Oh, please don't! You mean for my husband?" interrupted Mrs. Falk.

"Surely, that's the same thing!"

"Not at all! I can't be held responsible for all the black sheep in his family."

"What a pity it was that your parents, also, were ill and couldn't come! How's your dear father?"

"Thanks. He's quite well again. How kind of you to think of everybody!"

"Well, one shouldn't think of oneself only! Is he delicate, the old—what is his title?"

"Captain, if you like."

"Captain! I was under the impression that my husband said he was—one of the crew of the flagship, but very likely it's the same thing. But where were the girls?"

That's for the Brussels carpet, mentally reflected the controller's wife.

"They are so full of whims, they can never be depended on."

Mrs. Falk turned over the leaves in her photograph album; the binding cracked; she was in a towering rage.

"I say, dear, who was the disagreeable individual who read the verses on the night of your party?"

"You mean Mr. Levin; the royal secretary; he's my husband's most intimate friend."

"Is he really? Hm! How strange! My husband's a controller in the same office where he's a secretary; I don't want to vex you, or say anything unpleasant; I never do; but my husband says that Levin's in such bad circumstances that it's not wise for your husband to associate with him."

"Does he? That's a matter of which I know nothing, and in which I don't interfere, and let me tell you, my dear Evelyn, I never interfere in my husband's affairs, though I've heard of people who do."

"I beg your pardon, dear, I thought I was doing you a service by telling you."

That's for the chandelier and the dining-table. There only remains the velvet dress.

"Well," the controller's wife took up the thread again, "I hear that your brother-in-law...."

"Spare my feelings and don't talk of the creature!"

"Is he really such a bad lot? I've been told that he associates with the worst characters in town...."

At this juncture Mrs. Falk was reprieved; the footman announced Lady Rehnhjelm.

Oh! How welcome she was! How kind of her it was to come!

And Mrs. Falk really was pleased to see the old lady with the kindly expression in her eyes; an expression only found in the eyes of those who have weathered the storms of life with true courage.

"My dear Mrs. Falk," said her ladyship taking a seat; "I have all sorts of kind messages for you from your brother-in-law."

Mrs. Falk wondered what she had done to the old woman that she, too, evidently wanted to annoy her.

"Indeed?" she said, a little stiffly.

"He's a charming young man. He came to see my nephew to-day, at my house; they are great friends! He really is an excellent young man!"

"Isn't he?" joined in Mrs. Homan, always ready for a change of front. "We were just talking about him."

"Indeed? What I most admire in him is his courage in venturing on a course where one easily runs aground; but we need have no apprehensions so far as he is concerned; he's a man of character and principle. Don't you agree with me, Mrs. Falk?"

"I've always said so, but my husband thinks differently."

"Oh! Your husband has always had peculiar views," interposed Mrs. Homan.

"Is he a friend of your nephew's, Lady Rehnhjelm?" asked Mrs. Falk eagerly.

"Yes, they both belong to a small circle, some of the members of which are artists. You must have heard about young SellÉn, whose picture was bought by his Majesty?"

"Of course, I have! We went to the Exhibition on purpose to have a look at it. Is he one of them?"

"Yes; they're often very hard up, these young fellows, but that's nothing new in the case of young men who have to fight their way in the world."

"They say your brother-in-law's a poet," went on Mrs. Homan.

"Oh, rather! He writes excellent verse! The academy gave him a prize; the world will hear of him in time," replied Mrs. Falk with conviction.

"Haven't I always said so?" agreed Mrs. Homan.

And Arvid Falk's talents were enlarged upon, so that he had arrived in the Temple of Fame when the footman announced the Rev. Nathanael Skore. The latter entered hastily and hurriedly shook hands with the ladies.

"I must ask your indulgence for being so late," he said, "but I'm a very busy man. I have to be at a meeting at Countess Fabelkrantz's at half-past nine, and I have come straight from my work."

"Are you in a hurry then, dear pastor?"

"Yes, my wide activities give me no leisure. Hadn't we better begin business at once?"

The footman handed round refreshments.

"Won't you take a cup of tea, pastor, before we begin?" asked the hostess, smarting under the unpleasantness of a small disappointment.

The pastor glanced at the tray.

"Thank you, no; I'll take a glass of punch, if I may. I've made it a rule, ladies, never to differ from my fellow-creatures in externals. Everybody drinks punch; I don't like it, but I don't want the world to say that I'm better than anybody else; boasting is a failing which I detest. May I now begin with the proceedings?"

He sat down at the writing-table, dipped the pen into the ink and read:

"'Account of the Presents received by the Administrative Committee of the CrÈche "Bethlehem" during the month of May: Signed Eugenia Falk.'"

"NÉe, if I may ask?"

"Oh, never mind about that," said Mrs. Falk.

"Evelyn Homan."

"NÉe, if I may make so bold?"

"Von BÄhr, dear pastor."

"Antoinette Rehnhjelm."

"NÉe, madame?"

"Rehnhjelm, pastor."

"Ah! true! You married your cousin, husband dead, no children. But to continue: Presents...."

There was a general—almost general—consternation.

"But won't you sign, too, pastor?" asked Mrs. Homan.

"I dislike boasting, ladies, but if it's your wish! Here goes!"

"Nathanael Skore."

"Your health, pastor! Won't you drink a glass of punch before we begin?" asked the hostess with a charming smile, which died on her lips when she looked at the pastor's glass. It was empty; she quickly filled it.

"Thank you, Mrs. Falk, but we mustn't be immoderate! May I begin now? Please check me by the manuscript."

"'Presents: H.M. the Queen, forty crowns. Countess Fabelkrantz, five crowns and a pair of woollen stockings. Wholesale merchant Schalin, two crowns, a packet of envelopes, six steel nibs, and a bottle of ink. Miss Amanda Libert, a bottle of eau-de-Cologne. Miss Anna Feif, a pair of cuffs. Charlie, twopence halfpenny from his money box. Johanna Pettersson, half-dozen towels. Miss Emily BjÖrn, a New Testament. Grocer Persson, a bag of oatmeal, a quart of potatoes, and a bottle of pickled onions. Draper Scheike, two pairs of woollen under....'"

"May I ask the meeting whether all this is to be printed?" interrupted her ladyship.

"Well, of course," answered the pastor.

"Then I must resign my post on the Administrative Committee."

"But do you imagine, Lady Rehnhjelm, that the society could exist on voluntary contributions if the names of the donors did not appear in print? Impossible!"

"Is charity to shed its radiance on petty vanity?"

"No, no! Don't say that! Vanity is an evil, certainly; we turn the evil into good by transforming it into charity. Isn't that praiseworthy?"

"Oh, yes! But we mustn't call petty things by high-sounding names. If we do, we are boastful!"

"You are very severe, Lady Rehnhjelm! Scripture exhorts us to pardon others; you should pardon their vanity."

"I'm ready to pardon it in others but not in myself. It's pardonable and good that ladies who have nothing else to do should find pleasure in charity; but it's disgraceful if they call it a good action seeing that it is only their pleasure and a greater pleasure than most others on account of the wide publicity given to it by printing."

"Oh!" began Mrs. Falk, with the full force of her terrible logic, "do you mean to say that doing good is disgraceful, Lady Rehnhjelm?"

"No, my dear; but in my opinion it is disgraceful to print the fact that one has given a pair of woollen stockings...."

"But to give a pair of woollen stockings is doing good; therefore it must be disgraceful to do good...."

"No, but to have it printed, my child! You aren't listening to what I'm saying," replied her ladyship, reproving her stubborn hostess who would not give in, but went on:

"I see! It's the printing which is disgraceful! But the Bible is printed, consequently it is disgraceful to print the Bible...."

"Please go on, pastor," interrupted her ladyship, a little annoyed by the tactless manner in which her hostess defended her inanities; but the latter did not yet count the battle as lost.

"Do you think it beneath your dignity, Lady Rehnhjelm, to exchange views with so unimportant a person as I am...?"

"No, my child; but keep your views to yourself; I don't want to exchange."

"Do you call this discussing a question, may I ask? Won't you enlighten us on the point, pastor? Can it be called discussing a question if one party refuses to reply to the argument of the other?"

"Of course it can't, my dear Mrs. Falk," replied the pastor, with an ambiguous smile, which nearly reduced Mrs. Falk to tears. "But don't let us spoil a splendid enterprise by quarrelling over trifles, ladies! We'll postpone the printing until the funds are larger. We have seen the young enterprise shooting up like a seed and we have seen that powerful hands are willing to tend the young plant; but we must think of the future. The Society has a fund; the fund must be administered; in other words, we must look round for an administrator, a practical man, able to transform these presents into hard cash; we must elect a treasurer. I'm afraid we shall not find one without a sacrifice of money—does one ever get anything without such a sacrifice? Have the ladies anybody in view?"

No, the ladies had not thought of it.

"Then may I propose a young man of steady character, who in my opinion is just the right person for the work? Has the Administrative Committee any objection to appointing secretary Ekelund to the post of treasurer at a suitable salary?"

The ladies had no objection to make, especially as the young man was recommended by the Rev. Nathanael Skore; and the Pastor felt the more qualified to recommend him because he was a near relative of his. And so the CrÈche had a treasurer with a salary of six hundred crowns.

"Ladies," began the pastor again, "have we worked long enough in the vineyard for one day?"

There was silence. Mrs. Falk stared at the door wondering where her husband was.

"My time's short and I'm prevented from staying any longer. Has anybody any further suggestion to make? No! In calling down the blessing of the Lord on our enterprise, which has begun so auspiciously, I commend all of us to His loving mercy; I cannot do it in a better way than by repeating the words which He Himself has taught us when He prayed: 'Abba, Father—Our Father....'"

He was silent as if he were afraid of the sound of his own voice, and the Committee covered their faces with their hands as if they were ashamed of looking each other in the eyes. The ensuing pause grew long, unbearably long; yet no one dared to break it; every one looked through the fingers hoping that someone else would make the first move, when a violent pull at the front door bell brought the party down to earth.

The pastor took his hat and emptied his glass; there was something about him of a man who is trying to steal away. Mrs. Falk beamed, for here was the crushing, the vengeance, the rehabilitation.

Revenge was there and the crushing too, for the footman handed her a letter from her husband which contained—the guests were not enlightened as to its contents, but they saw enough to make them declare at once that they had pressing engagements.

Lady Rehnhjelm would have liked to stay and comfort her young hostess, whose appearance betrayed a high degree of consternation and unhappiness. The latter, however, did not encourage her, but on the contrary was so exceedingly eager to help her visitors with their hats and cloaks that it looked as if she wanted to be rid of them as quickly as possible.

They parted in great embarrassment. The footsteps died away on the staircase and the departing guests could tell from the nervous haste with which the hostess shut the door behind them that she longed for solitude in order to be able to give vent to her feelings.

It was quite true. Left by herself in the large rooms Mrs. Falk burst into violent sobs; but her tears were not the tears which fall like a May shower on a wizened old heart; they were the tears of wrath and rage which darken the mirror of the soul and fall like an acid on the roses of health and youth and wither them.