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Updated: June 11, 2025
The old cheerful confusion reigned in the studio. He had a long time to wait there, and then heard through several doors Senora Petra's scolding voice and her husband's angry replies.
The agent retired to his room, summoned the landlady, and told her that he refused to remain another moment as long as Petra's son was in the house. The landlady, whose chief interest was to retain her boarder, communicated her decision to her servant. "Now see what you've done. You can't stay here any longer," said Petra to her son. "All right.
Manuel's mother, as always, would be meditating upon heaven and hell, giving little heed to the pettiness of this earth, and she could not shield her son from such edifying spectacles. Petra's educational system consisted only of giving Manuel an occasional blow and of making him read prayer-books.
If I could only guess what she's waiting for." "Perhaps she's not waiting at all." "Well, it's all the same to me," says the schoolmaster. "But she takes in all these tramps and peddlers and carries on and makes a public nuisance of herself...." As I walked home from the schoolmaster's, I found I understood Petra's arithmetic much better.
At noon, the Biscayan, in tones of deep mystery, told Petra about the conspiracy, but the maid-of-all-work was in no mood for jests that day. She had just received a letter that filled her with worriment. Her brother-in-law wrote her that Manuel, the eldest of Petra's children, was being sent to Madrid. No lucid explanation of the reason for this decision was given.
Here were no flowerpots in the windows or pictures on the walls, as at Petra's; but good, thick furs with woven backs hung over the doors, and the children looked healthy and well-fed. The neighbors all knew I lived at Petra's house; every visitor to this district lived at Petra's house had done so as long as they could remember.
So it went on for many a year, with the children growing up, and Petra getting big and hearty. Then Palm came; he was a Swede, a big merchant a wholesale merchant, one might almost say, for that period, with his own boat and even a boy to carry his wares. Well, there were glass panes again in the windows of Petra's parents' house, and there was meat on Sundays, for Palm liked things done in style.
This, no doubt, was the sort of thing Fru Ingeborg had been used to and considered in good taste. But in Petra's day, this had been a light and spacious room. "How's your mother?" I asked Nikolai. As usual he was slow to reply. His wife answered for him: "She's very well." I wanted to ask, "Where is she?" but I refrained. "Look, I want to show you something," said Fru Ingeborg.
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