e thought
to herself with a sort of defiance: "I wonder which of us two has the
harder work?"

In one respect she was happier than her husband. Philosophy did not
enter into her dreams, and when she could steal a quiet moment for
reflection; her thoughts were very different from the cogitations of the
poor philosopher.

She had no silver plate to polish, no jewelry to take out and deck
herself with. But, in the inmost recess of her heart, she treasured all
the memories of the first year of her marriage, that year of romantic
bliss; and these memories she would furbish and furbish afresh, till
they shone brighter with every year that passed.

But when the weary and despondent housewife, in all secrecy, decked
herself out with these jewels of memory, they did not succeed in
shedding any brightness over her life in the present. She was scarcely
conscious of any connection between the golden-locked angel with the
red ribbons and the five-year-old boy who lay grubbing in the dark back
yard. These moments snatched her quite away from reality; they were like
opium dreams.

Then some one would call for her from an adjoining room, or one of the
children would be brought in howling from the street, with a great bump
on its forehead. Hastily she would hide away her treasures, resume
her customary air of hopeless weariness, and plunge once more into her
labyrinth of duties and cares.--Thus had this marriage fared, and thus
did this couple toil onward. They both dragged at the same heavy load;
but did they drag in unison? It is sad, but it is true: when the
manger is empty, the horses bite each other.----There was a great
chocolate-party at the Misses Ludvigsen's--all maiden ladies.

"For married women are so prosaic," said the elder Miss Ludvigsen.

"Uh, yes!" cried Louisa.

Every one was in the most vivacious humor, as is generally the case in
such company and on such an occasion; and, as the gossip went the round
of the town, it arrived in time at Soeren's door. All were agreed that it
was a most unhappy marriage, and a miserable home; some pitied, others
condemned.

Then the elder Miss Ludvigsen, with a certain solemnity, expressed
herself as follows: "I can tell you what was at fault in that marriage,
for I know the circumstances thoroughly. Even before her marriage there
was something calculating, something almost prosaic in Marie's nature,
which is entirely foreign to true, ideal love. This fault has since
taken th