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Hanne's little daughter stared silently out of the window, with the deep, wondering gaze of her mother. "Don't be afraid," Pelle shouted to the old woman; "we are coming to help you now!" When little Paul caught sight of Pelle he wrenched himself away from Madam Johnsen and ran out onto the gallery.
They say you're no man, or you would have managed to clip Hanne's feathers." Pelle gazed at her, wondering; he said nothing, but looked at her and shook his head. "What are you staring at me for?" she said, placing herself aggressively in front of him. "Perhaps you think I'm afraid to say what I like to you? Don't you stare at me with that face, or you'll get one in the mouth!"
For the first time he doubted himself. "Now you must lie down and go to sleep," he said gently, and stroked her forehead. It was burning hot and throbbed, and alarmed he felt her pulse. Her hand dropped into his, thin and worn, and her pulse was irregular. Alas, Hanne's fever was raging within her! She held his hand tight when he rose to go.
It was Hanne's look; behind it was the same wondering over life, but here was added to it a terrible knowledge. Suddenly her face changed; she discovered that she had been outwitted, and glared at him. "Is it true that you and mother were once sweethearts?" she suddenly asked mischievously. Pelle's face flushed. The question had taken him by surprise.
And from time to time some one completed his term, and was carried out of the dark corridors and borne away on the dead-cart as always. But in the "Ark" there was no change to be observed. It happened one day that he went over to call on Widow Johnsen. She looked very melancholy sitting there as she turned her old soldiers' trousers and attended to Hanne's child, which promised to be a fine girl.
Your blood is too unruly," said the mother, "and mouths were meant to be used." During the journey Pelle was reserved. Now and again he pressed Hanne's hand, which lay, warm and slightly perspiring, in his upon the seat.
And up among the timbers of the third story hung Hanne's canary, singing quite preposterously, its beak pointing up toward the spot of fiery light overhead. Across the floor of the courtyard went an endless procession of people, light-shy creatures who emerged from the womb of the "Ark" or disappeared into it.
But the cold and its sister, hunger, came every day to look in upon them. On the third floor, away from the court, Widow Johnsen sat in the corner by the stove. Hanne's little girl lay cowering on the floor, on a tattered patchwork counterpane. Through the naked window one saw only ice, as though the atmosphere were frozen down to the ground.
One evening, when work was over, as he came homeward from Beck's workshop, he heard the children singing Hanne's song down in the courtyard.
His brain was whirling with energy, with illimitable, unconquerable strength! Pelle had before this gone soaring on high and had come safely to earth again. And this time also he came to ground, with a long sigh of relief, as though he had cast off a heavy burden. Hanne's arm lay in his; he pressed it slightly. But she did notice him; she too now was far away.
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