Prois in particular took a most gloomy view. "It's a dangerous age for that sort of thing; comes on suddenly, before you know where you are." He was thinking of his own experiences in that direction; it was only four years since he had been wild to marry that young governess at the Abrahamsens', the disaster, however, being fortunately averted by the intervention of Pedersen, the telegraphist, who cut in and won her before he, Prois, had screwed himself up to the question.
Old Nick hardly knew the place again when he came down to breakfast next morning, to find Mrs. Rantzau presiding at table in a pink morning-gown and dainty shoes. The walls were decorated with Chinese paper fans in flowery designs, and Japanese parasols; the sofas had been moved out at all angles about the room. A big palm waved above his writing-table, and all the papers on it were neatly arranged in two piles of equal size, one on either hand.
At sight of this his blood began to boil; his writing-table was sacred; no human hand but his own had touched it for the past forty years. Old Marthe herself, when dusting the room, had been as shy of coming near it as if it had been a red-hot stove. Nevertheless, Old Nick found himself unable to say a word; Mrs. Rantzau's smile and her dark eyes threw him into utter confusion.
One day, happening to come in for some papers, he found her in the act of taking the documents of a case pending--"Strandvik Postal Authorities _v._ Holmestrand Town Council"--to clean the lamps with. But here he was obliged to put his foot down and protest. If he could not trust his papers to be left in safety on his table, why, he might as well move out of the house.
Mrs. Rantzau looked at him with great imploring eyes, and was so contrite; he must forgive her, she was so dreadfully stupid; she had no idea that papers could be so important.
Old Nick could not help smiling, and peace was restored, on condition that for the future only newspapers should be used for cleaning purposes. This naturally led to Old Nick's finding the one particular journal he wanted to read after dinner had been sacrificed.
She was undeniably handsome, however, especially in that pink morning-gown as she sat at the breakfast-table, while Old Nick revived his early memories and endeavoured to play the youthful cavalier.