You who read this, do you realise how dreadful it was?  Have you been to such a—­I had nearly written silent—­concert, in a Norwegian coast town of somewhat pietist savour?  Hardly any men are present.  Either music is not to the masculine taste in the coast towns, or they are in some other part of the club, at billiards, or cards, or in the restaurant drinking punch, or reading the papers.  Two or three perhaps have come up for a moment, and stand near the door, stand like those to whom the house belongs, and who wish to have a look at the strangers; or there really are one or two men sitting on the benches, squeezed in among the many coloured dresses, or else a few specimens are seen round the walls, like forgotten overcoats.

No! those who gather at the concerts are from the harems of the place; their elder inhabitants come to dream again, amidst beautiful words and touching music, of what they once persuaded themselves that they were, and what they had once believed was awaiting them.  It is a harmless passing amusement.  In the main they are better understood up above than here below, so that if a whiff of the kitchen or a few household worries do find their way into the dreams, it does not disturb them.  The younger denizens of the harems dream that they are what the elders once believed themselves, and that they will attain at least to something of what the eldest have never reached. They had gained some information about life.  In one thing old and young resemble each other; they are practical and prosperous by descent.  They never allow their thoughts to stray very far.  They know quite well that the glow which they feel as they listen to the words and music of great minds is not to be taken too seriously; it is only “What one always feels, you know.”

When, therefore, one among them took this really seriously and began to cry about it, good gracious!  In private it was called “foolery,” in public “scandalous.”

Ella had made a spectacle of herself.  Her own dismay was immeasurable.  No girl that she knew was less given to tears than herself; that she was certain of.  She had as great a dread as any one of being looked at, or talked about.  What in the world was it then?  She was fond of music, certainly; she played herself, but she did not believe that she had any remarkable gift.  Why, then, should she especially have been overcome by his song?  What must he think of the silly girl?  This thought troubled her most, and on this point she dare not confide in any one.  Most people concluded that she had been ill, and she actually did keep indoors for a few days, and looked pale when she reappeared.  Her friends teased her about it, but she let the matter drop.

In the winter there were several children’s dances, one of which was at “Andresen’s at the corner,” and Ella was there.  Just at the conclusion of the second quadrille, she heard whispered “Aksel Aaroe, Aksel Aaroe!” and there he stood at the door, with three other young fellows behind him.  The hostess was his elder sister.  The four had come up from a card party to look on.