to the winds of heaven, had come to a lady, and that in one way or
another she had found him out. He remembered very well, that a
single time, five or six weeks before, he had in a numerous
company mentioned that incident, and he did not doubt that the
story had extended itself as ripples do, when one throws a stone
into the water; but where in the whole town, or indeed the land,
had the ripple hit the exact point? He looked again at the
envelope. It bore the stamp of the Copenhagen city mail: that was
all. But that showed with some probability that the writer lived
in Copenhagen, and maybe at this moment she looked down upon him
from one of the many windows; for now he stood by the fountain.
There was something in the paper, the handwriting, or more
properly perhaps in the secrecy, that made her seem young,
spirited, beautiful, piquant. There was something fairy-like,
exalted, intoxicating, in the feeling that the object of the
longing and hope of his youth had been under the protection of a
good spirit, and that the great unknown had taken care of and
prepared for him a companion, a wife, just at the moment when he
had become Counsellor of Justice of the Superior Court. But who
was she? This was the only thing painful in the affair; but this
intriguing annoyance was not to be avoided, if the lady was to
remain within her sphere, surrounded by respect and esteem.

"What would I have thought of a lady, a woman, who came straight
forward and handed out the billet, saying: 'Here I am'?" he asked
himself, at the moment when at last he had found the court-house
stairs and was ascending.

How it fared that day with the examinations is recorded in
criminal and police court documents; but a veil is thrown over it