But Percy looked searchingly round the circle of faces and his look rested with an expression of admiration on Hedvig:
“Isn’t the likeness all the same most striking in Hedvig?” he said lightly.
Not for a second did he shrink from the thought that she was of the same blood as the old usurer against whom the soul of a hunted and despairing artist had exploded its hatred before his eyes.
After the early dinner Percy had to return home at once. And Hedvig did not want to stay with the others round the coffee table.
“Now, I will leave you, so that you can discuss us more freely,” she said.
Hedvig was going up to her room. She had not gone many steps up the creaking stairs before she heard the dammed-up floods of talk of her sister and brothers released. Silently as a ghost she crept back to the door and listened. First she heard Stellan’s voice:
“The devil take me if I can understand Hedvig. I really did not think her capable of this.”
“Indeed,” interposed Laura, “it was exactly what I expected. She used to sneak things when she was small.”
“Poor Percy is a decent fellow anyhow. He only wants to get away as quickly as possible in secret. I understand that they don’t want us to be present at the wedding.”
“Well,” said Laura, “we are sure to meet again soon—on another solemn occasion.”
Then one heard Peter bang his knees together. “Yes, yes, the money will last longer than the husband. She will soon have pots of money.”
Hedvig leaned against the doorpost with closed eyes. She felt cold and stiff all over. Her disgust at the people in there who so impudently and blindly defiled her sacrifice froze her blood. And all the same she could not tear herself away from her listening post. And all the same she devoured greedily every word of her sister and brothers. In her innermost heart there was a wild frightened joy to hear how rich she was going to be.
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+PETER CASTS OUT MAJÄNGEN AND BRINGS HOME EKBACKEN+
Peter the Boss had begun to frequent the observatory again. But it was not in order to watch the workers at Selambshof as old Enoch had done. No, the observatory was rather the scene of his economic dreams. With the help of the old marine glass he now and then peeped into the future. On the blackened billiard marker he had a few calculations, for the airiness of which quickly wiped-off chalk was a better medium than paper and ink. It was a sort of game. But behind the game lurked a serious purpose. Peter the Boss longed more and more to rise above the humble rank of an ordinary farm-bailiff. It is true that he had been called “Director” ever since the estate had been transformed into a limited company after the death of their father, but the change of the title did not alter the facts. Peter was tired of his elementary tricks in buying and selling and they had now become a matter of mechanical routine with him. They were simply a means of obtaining the commission which his sisters and brothers were too mean to pay him. Of course he did earn a certain amount of money. Yes, the amount increased quite nicely, quite nicely. But all the same he felt the restlessness of one who is conscientiously capable of greater things. He had half-frightened, dizzying visions of profits of millions. The future teemed with possibilities which confused and distracted him during his day’s work. He had to climb up to a high place in order to survey the situation. And that place was the observatory.