The door opened again, and the peasant was brought in to the lady. He did not feel very cheerful. “Oh dear, she’ll want it back!” he thought on his way through the rooms, for some reason lifting his feet as if he were walking through tall grass, and trying not to stamp with his bark shoes. He could make nothing of his surroundings. Passing by a mirror, he saw some kind of flowers and a peasant with bark shoes, lifting his legs high, a painted gentleman with an eyeglass, some kind of green tub, and something white.⁠ ⁠… There, now! The something white began to speak. It was the lady. He did not understand anything, but only stared. He did not know where he was, and saw everything as in a mist.

“Is that you, Doútlof?”

“Yes, lady.⁠ ⁠… Just as it was, so I left it⁠ ⁠… never touched⁠ ⁠…” he said. “I was not glad⁠ ⁠… as before God! How I’ve tired out my horse!⁠ ⁠…”

“Well, it’s your luck!” she remarked contemptuously, though with a kindly smile. “Take it⁠—take it for yourself.”