Читать книгу The Old Room онлайн

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That was how the room was.

Each evening, when it grew dark, the oldest servant in the house lit the candles on the mantelpiece. Each morning, before any one was awake, he cleaned the room with his own hands and watered the red flowers on the balcony. When winter came, he strewed bread-crumbs for the sparrows that gathered on the baluster and twittered.

But the name of him that owned the house was Cordt. And his wife was Fru Adelheid.

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Cordt sat in one of the armchairs by the chimney, reading.

He was in evening clothes and held his crush-hat and his gloves on his knees. He turned the pages quickly. Every moment, he swept his thick hair from his forehead; every moment, he looked at Fru Adelheid, who was walking up and down the floor with her hands behind her back.

She was very tall and slender. Her face was as white as her white gown. Her mouth was very red, her eyes looked large and strange. She wore flowers in her hair and at her waist.

“You are not reading, Cordt,” she said; but she passed with her back to him.