“I know now who it was that saw us that evening; it was not Miss Cordsen.”

“That is what I have long suspected,” answered Fanny, with a smile; “but I did not wish to alarm you.  Besides, Madeleine is far too stupid to allow of her doing us any harm.”

At that moment he was almost afraid of her.  He felt he could not remain with her any longer, although she besought him to do so.

Fanny stood watching him as he went down the street, biting her lips to restrain her feelings; but the tears stood in her eyes, and she kept a convulsive hold on the curtains, behind which she was concealing herself.  For the conquest she had made, which had also on her side been at first only mere vanity, had ended by becoming a serious matter.  She really loved him, and could now see clearly exactly how the situation lay.

Christmas came and passed.  The ordinary festivities of the season went on as usual at the Garmans’; but this year they were less merry than usual.  There were several members of the family who each had to bear his own separate sorrow; and little Christian Frederick, the only hope of the family, was lying at home, slowly recovering from the measles.  Uncle Richard never seemed to gain quite his usual Christmas spirits, for Madeleine’s appearance caused him considerable anxiety.  Since he had no longer been able to keep her under his eye by means of the big telescope, she had quite got beyond his ken amongst all the others with whom she constantly mixed, and whenever they happened by chance to find themselves alone together, Madeleine did nothing but cry, and that was more than her father could bear.

Morten was dreading the settling of the year’s accounts with his father.  That part of the business which was carried on in the town, and which was regarded as a kind of offshoot from Garman and Worse, had to be most carefully examined on account of a large amount of private business and debts, which the son had incurred during the past year.  His housekeeping account, which his father always wished to see, had also to be worked out carefully by itself.  But the worst of it all was, that when they were sitting together in the Consul’s office, Morten could never get rid of the feeling, that however he might twist and wriggle, the clear blue eyes still seemed to pierce through his every manoeuvre; and the part he had to play was very painful to him.  As soon as they had reckoned up the result of the year, the Consul put his finger on the gross receipts and said, “These are far too small.”

“Times have been very bad,” answered Morten.  “I feel sure that by next year—­”

“The times have not been so bad,” interrupted the father, “but that a house with the capital with which we have to work ought to have managed to earn double.  In my father’s time we earned twice as much with half our present capital.”

“Yes; but times were quite different in those days, father.”