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Updated: June 4, 2025
Then Pelle turned away a little, re- crossed his leg, and leant over on the other side, restless as a horse in blinkers. Close behind him his neighbor, Madam Frandsen, was bustling about her little kitchen. The door stood open on to the platform, and she chattered incessantly, half to herself and half to Pelle, about her gout, her dead husband, and her lout of a son.
Of course she must be lonely; perhaps there was nowhere where she could spend the evening. Old Madam Frandsen came out on her platform and shuffled down the steep stairs in her cloth slippers. The rope slipped through her trembling hands. She had a little basket on her arm and a purse in her hand she too looked so lonely, the poor old worm! She had now heard nothing of her son for three months.
Suddenly a warning voice sounded from below: "Madam Frandsen, there are visitors coming!" Doors and windows flew open on the galleries round about. People tumbled out of doorways, their food in their hands, and leaned over the railings. "Who dares to disturb our Christmas rejoicings?" cried a deep, threatening voice. "The officers of the law!" the reply came out of the darkness.
Down by the exit into the street they had to push two tramps, who stood there shuddering in the cold. They were suspicious-looking people. "There are two men down there, but they aren't genuine," said Karl. "They look as if they came out of a music-hall." "Run over to old Madam Frandsen and tell her that," said Pelle. But her only answer was, "God be thanked, then they haven't caught him yet!"
"Pelle is here!" sounded from gallery to gallery, and they hurried up the stairs in order to nod to him and to seek to entice him to swallow a cup of coffee. Old Madam Frandsen had moved; she disappeared when Ferdinand came out of prison no one knew whither. Otherwise there were no changes. A few factory women left by night on account of their rent, and others had taken their places.
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