She is far too intelligent and far too good-hearted, too, to try to come between them, either wilfully or through vanity, but my sister is forcing her into a false position. Christine always needs someone to complain to, some soulful figure straight out of the works of Jean-Paul Richter, someone perpetually worrying about the fact that life is real, life is earnest …. The only thing that is capable of relieving her gloom is gossip about the affairs of the heart of heretics—a heretic being anyone who is not an Old Lutheran, a Pietist, or a Herrnhuter. And it is a miracle that she can at least tolerate those three. She is so obstinate and unapproachable. I keep trying to persuade her and explain to her that she ought to be more adaptable and be prepared to listen to her husband if he tells a joke or a story or even makes a pun.”

Schwarzkoppen nodded: “I was telling her as much today and pointing out all the count’s amiable qualities.”

“A suggestion which she no doubt rather haughtily denied. I know her. Always some question of education or reports from some missionary in Greenland or Ceylon, or a harmonium or church-candles or an altar-cloth or a crucifix. It’s quite intolerable. I am mentioning all this to you so frankly and fully because you are the only one who can help. Mind you, I’m not certain that she finds you completely satisfactory because, thank God, you lack the necessary pietistic tinge of ‘little blossoms, little angels.’ The temperature of your religion is not quite high enough for her, but she at least accepts its form and because of that, she will not only listen to your advice but will follow it as well. Which is something.”

While Arne was speaking, they had reached the place where the dunes opened out towards the sea. The surf could now be seen and, further out, fishing boats lying with furled sails in the moonlight. A rocket shot up on the horizon and stars of light slowly descended.

Arne ordered the coachman to stop. “Enchanting. That’s the steamer from Korsör. Perhaps the King is on board and wishes to spend a few weeks more in Glücksburg. I have already heard that they have dug up something else in the bog near Süderbrarup or somewhere, a Viking ship or King Canute the Great’s pleasure yacht or something. Personally I would sooner read David Copperfield or The Three Musketeers. It all leaves me quite cold, these combs and needles they keep digging out of the bog or else some tangled mass that sets Thomsen and Worsaae at loggerheads because they can’t decide whether it is a bundle of roots or some sea-king’s head of hair. As for the royal luncheons where the chief item on the menu is crates of schnapps or else Countess Danner herself, of humble memory—a former milliner, I believe—well, I find all that quite repugnant. In everything else, I try to differ from my sister, even when she is right and makes such a fuss about it, unfortunately; but where this is concerned, I can only agree with her and I cannot understand why Holk persists in keeping on with all that business over in Copenhagen and seems to enjoy strutting about in his gentleman-in-waiting’s uniform. I grant that there is no reason why his feelings as a Schleswig-Holsteiner should stand in his way, since as long as the King is living, he is, after all, our King and Duke. But I think it inexpedient and unwise. After all, life with Countess Danner is hardly conducive to longevity—I mean for the King, of course—and overnight it may be all over. In any case, he’s an apoplectic. And what will happen then?”

“I think that Holk doesn’t ask himself that question. He lives only for the moment and consoles himself with the saying: Après nous le déluge.”

“Very true. He lives only for the moment and the fact that he does this is another thing my sister cannot forgive and here again I must take her side. But let’s not talk about this any more; today I don’t feel like making a list of all my sister’s virtues but rather of les défauts de ses vertus which, my dear Schwarzkoppen, we must combine in opposing or else we are going to witness something very unpleasant, of that I am certain.