on the dish
before them. But the anxious countryman tapped Madame on the shoulder
with his tallow candle; he trembled for his sixty-three oere. And, amid
all this hopeless confusion, Karen had disappeared without leaving a
trace.

Anders the post-boy sat on the box; the innkeeper's boy stood ready to
open the gates; the two passengers inside the coach became impatient, as
did also the horses--although they had nothing to look forward to--and
the wind rustled and whistled through the stable.

At length came the guard, whom they awaited. He carried his large cloak
over his arm, as he walked up to the coach and made a little excuse for
having kept the party waiting. The light of the lantern shone upon his
face; he looked very warm, and smilingly said as much, as he drew on his
cloak and climbed up beside the driver.

The gates were opened, and the coach rumbled away. Anders let the horses
go gently, for now there was no hurry. Now and then he stole a glance at
the guard by his side; he was still sitting smiling to himself, and
letting the wind ruffle his hair.

Anders the post-boy also smiled in his peculiar way. He began to
understand.

The wind followed the coach until the road turned; thereupon it again
swept over the plain, and whistled and sighed long and strangely among
the dry clusters of heather. The fox lay at his post; everything was
calculated to a nicety; the hare must soon be there.

In the inn Karen had at last reappeared, and the confusion had gradually
subsided. The anxious countryman had got quit of his candle and received
his sixty-three oere, and the commercial gentlemen had set to work upon
the roast hare.

Madame whined a little, but she never scolded Karen; there was not a
person in the world who could scold Karen.

Quietly and without haste Karen again walked to and fro, and the air of
peaceful comfort that always followed her once more overspread the snug,
half-dark parlour. But the two fish-buyers, who had had both one and two
cognacs with their coff