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Blockhead she had called him for the first time in the whole of their life together; he would have liked to have forced that word home again and that, at once, before it stuck to him. But to face a mad, old wife and a howling girl no, he kept out of it. Sören Man was an obstinate fellow; when once he got a thing into his three-cornered head, nothing could hammer it out again.
This agreed well with the girl's otherwise gentle manners. In spite of the trouble it gave her, this new phase was a comfort to Maren. It took the last remaining doubt from her heart: it was now irrevocably settled. Sörine was a gentlefolks' child, not by birth, of course for Maren knew well enough who was father and who mother to the girl, whatever Sören might have thought but by gift of grace.
He was always shouting his abuse of Soren through the open doors, because the latter would not go near his buxom young wife. Old Jorgen had taken him and put him into bed with her with his own hands, but Soren had got out of the business by crying and trembling like a new-born calf. "D'you think he's perhaps bewitched?" asked Master Andres.
About a week before his death they had spoken of the future, and Sören had comforted Maren by saying: "'Twill all be right for you, Maren if but you weren't such a blockhead." For the first time Maren had protested against this, and Sören, as was his wont, referred to the case of Sörine: "Ay, and did you see what was wrong with the girl, what all saw who set eyes on her?
"That he shall, though," answered Sören, threateningly. "Look you, the one thing to compel him is the law and that she will not take, if I know anything about her. But, I'll not say but he might help the girl to a proper marriage will you take two hundred crowns once and for all?"
Olsen had at first come about her early and late, and overwhelmed her with advice and criticism. Both Sören and his wife were many a time heartily tired of her; but they owed the Olsens so much. Little by little, however, the old lady's zeal cooled down.
There he had lived a long life and always professed the religion taught him in childhood; at times when things looked dark, he had even called upon God; nevertheless, it had never occurred to him to consider what the good God really looked like. And here he was confounded by the words of a little child, exactly as in the Bible. "God?" began Sören hesitating on the word, to gain time.
This was the story as he tells it: His brother Morten truly a son of Belial cherished a deadly hatred toward pastor Sören Quist since the day the latter had refused him the hand of his daughter. As soon as he heard that the pastor's coachman had left him, he persuaded Niels to take the place.
Every second afternoon, about five o'clock, the workshop door would open slightly, and a naked, floury arm introduced the newspaper and laid it on the counter. This was the baker's son, Soren, who never allowed himself to be seen; he moved about from choice like a thief in the night.
Maren would have liked to try her own remedies on him, but might just as well spare her arts for a better occasion; Sören had seen a black hole in the ground; there was no cure for that. So matters stood. Maren knew as well as he, that this was the end; but she was a sturdy nature, and never liked to give in.
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