Ella felt a thrill of delight, and at the same time her knees threatened to give way under her.  She could neither see, nor understand clearly, but she felt great eyes on her.  She was engrossed in a fold of her dress which did not hang properly, when he stood before her and said, “What a beautiful plait you have.”  His voice seemed to sprinkle it with gold-dust.  He put out his hand as though he were going to touch it, but instead of doing so he stroked his beard.  When he noticed her extreme timidity, he turned away.  Several times during the evening she felt conscious of his presence; but he did not come up to her again.

The other men took part in the dancing, but Aaroe did not dance.  There was something about him which she thought specially charming; a reserved air of distinction, a polish in his address, a deference of that quiet kind which alone could have appealed to her.  His walk gave the impression that he kept half his strength in reserve, and this was the same in everything.  He was tall, but not broad-shouldered; the small, somewhat narrow head, set on a rather long neck.  She had never before noticed the way in which he turned his head.  She felt now that there could be something, yes, almost musical about it.

The room, and all that passed in it, seemed to float in light, but suddenly this light was gone.  A little later she heard some one say, “Where is Aksel Aaroe?  Has he left?”

Aaroe was not at home for very long that winter.  He had already spent two years at Havre, from which place he had recently returned; he was now going for a couple of years to Hull.  Before this, music had been a favourite pursuit with Ella; she had especially loved and studied harmony, but from this time forward she devoted herself to melody.  All music had given her pleasure and she had made some progress in it; but now it became speech to her.  She herself spoke in it or another spoke to her.  Now, whoever she was with, there was always one as well, she was never alone now, not in the street, not at home; of this the plait was the sacred symbol.

In the course of the spring Fru Holmbo met Ella in the street as she was coming from the pastor’s house with her prayer-book in her hand.

“Are you going to be confirmed?” asked Fru Holmbo.

“Yes.”

“I have a message for you; can you guess from whom?”

Now, Fru Holmbo was a friend of Aksel Aaroe’s sister and very intimate with the family.  Ella blushed and could not answer.

“I see that you know who it is from,” said Fru Holmbo, and Ella blushed more than ever.

With a rather superior smile—­and the prettiest lady in the town had a superabundance of them—­she said, “Aksel Aaroe is not fond of writing.  We have only just received his first letter since he left; but in it he writes that when we see ‘the girl with the plait,’ we are to remember him to her.’  She cried at Moehring’s song; other people might have done so too,’” he wrote.