The ladies before me had each a blue bird's wing in their hats, and
a plaid silk ribbon round their necks. It struck me that they were
sisters.
They turned, stopped at Cisler's music-shop, and spoke together. I stopped
also. Thereupon they both came back, went the same road as they had come,
passed me again, and turned the corner of University Street and up towards
St. Olav's place. I was all the time as close at their heels as I dared to
be. They turned round once, and sent me a half-fearful, half-questioning
look, and I saw no resentment nor any trace of a frown in it.
This forbearance with my annoyance shamed me thoroughly and made me lower
my eyes. I would no longer be a trouble to them; out of sheer gratitude I
would follow them with my gaze, not lose sight of them until they entered
some place safely and disappeared.
Outside No. 2, a large four-storeyed house, they turned again before going
in. I leant against a lamp-post near the fountain and listened for their
footsteps on the stairs. They died away on the second floor. I advanced
from the lamp-post and looked up at the house. Then something odd
happened. The curtains above were stirred, and a second after a window
opened, a head popped out, and two singular-looking eyes dwelt on me.
"Ylajali!" I muttered, half-aloud, and I felt I grew red.
Why does she not call for help, or push over one of these flower-pots and
strike me on the head, or send some one down to drive me away? We stand
and look into one another's eyes without moving; it lasts a minute.
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