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“You distort the chronicle, Adelheid,” he said. “It was not at all like that. The queen wanted to die and she died. She went to the monk to be released from sin and piously subjected herself to his command.”

“They had God, in those days,” said Fru Adelheid.

“Yes, they had. The old, strong God held them in His hands.”

He rose quickly and stood by the chimney.

“Do you believe in God, Cordt?”

“No,” he answered. “I do not. But I believe that He once existed. And I think that it would be a good thing if He were here now.”

“I think so too.”

He put his foot on the fender and folded his hands over his knee:

“God is somewhere still. And I do not fear His mighty face. If ever I come to look upon it, then I daresay I shall see all that was high and glorious for me in my days, all that made my blood red and my back straight.”

Fru Adelheid smiled:

“Is that the old, strong God, I wonder?”

He glanced at her face, but there was nothing there to rouse his anger. Then he crossed the room and stood beside her again with the same expression in his eyes: