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 There was a knock at the door again. "It is your father," whispered Jenny.

"Hush—sit still—don't open!"

They heard retreating steps on the landing. Helge frowned.

"What is it, dear?"

"Oh, I don't know—I hope we won't see him. We don't wish to be disturbed, do we? Not to see anybody."

"No," she kissed his mouth, and, bending his head, she kissed him again on the neck behind the ear.

After dinner, when they were having coffee and liqueurs, Jenny said suddenly: "I cannot get over this about Francesca."

"Did you not know before? I thought she had written to you."

Jenny shook her head.

"Never a word—you could have knocked me down with a feather when I got her letter. Only a few words: 'Tomorrow I am going to marry Ahlin.' I had not the least suspicion of it."

"Neither had we. They were very much together, of course, but that they were going to marry even Heggen did not know until she asked him to give her away."

"Have you seen them since?"

"No. They went to Rocca di Papa the same day, and they were still there when I left Rome."

Jenny sat a while thinking.

"I thought she was all taken up with her work," she said.

"Heggen told me she had finished the big picture of the gate, and that it was very good. She had begun several small ones too, but then she got married all of a sudden. I don't know if they had been properly engaged even. And what about you, Jenny—you wrote you had begun a new picture?"

Jenny led him to the easel. The big canvas showed a street