She spoke slowly, with constant pauses between her jerky sentences, and she looked at me as craftily as she could with those dull eyes of hers.
"Yes, I know all about Stephensen. Minna has told me. She does not keep any secrets from me," I replied.
"No, of course not! Yes, he is a countryman of yours, and even an artist, of course you have heard of that," she said quickly, evidently satisfied to know that I understood what she was talking about, but at the same time anxious not to pursue the subject.
"Oh yes, such talent," she prattled, "you are quite right in that!" (I had not referred in any way to his talent). "And a nice man, so pleasant to have dealings with! He always paid me punctually, sometimes even before the time; not because I asked him to do so, but times were hard, and he was very considerate. He only smoked cigarettes … very different to our present lodger. By the way, he is also a painter, that is to say, he comes from Holstein. It's houses he decorates, ceilings and walls.… But Mr. Stephensen only smoked cigarettes. Oh, when in those days one came into the room, it was just like smelling the incense in the Catholic Church. Yes, you have been there? Dear me, so lofty, isn't it, and all the candles on the altar? Yes, and how they sing! It's just as if one heard the angels. I've been there with Minna. She said it was Latin they sang; my good husband was an excellent Latin scholar. Otherwise, I go to the Anna Church near here. It's a wonderful parson we have; he shook hands with me the other day and asked for Minna. He confirmed her, but for some reason she doesn't like him. She easily takes fancies … and of course she's right in a way, there are so many bad people. Good gracious, it is a trouble to know what to do among them
