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This impression was strengthened by certain sayings of hers, some of which went the rounds.

When the King fastened on her skates he said gallantly: “You have the most charming little foot.” “Yes, from to-day onwards,” she replied.

A jovial colonel of artillery had dissipated a fortune on his comrades, on women, and on himself. “I lay my heart at your feet,” he said. “Why, what would you have left to give away?” she laughed, and gave him her hand for the polonaise.

She stopped in the polonaise before a young lieutenant, who turned scarlet. “You are one of those one could die for,” he whispered.

She took his arm in a friendly manner. “Well, to live for me would probably be a bore for both of us.”

She once went to the poet-in-ordinary of the regiment, a smart captain, to offer him a philippine. “Do you wish it?” she asked. “There is one thing we all wish in respect to you,” he answered, “but we can never manage to say it–what can the reason be?” “To say what?” she asked. “‘I love you.'” “Oh! of course, they know that I should laugh at it,” she laughed; and offered him the half almond, and from that time they remained as good friends as ever.

But there were other kinds of sayings of hers which aroused yet more respect. A discussion was going on one day at the fireside about a certain gate which was called the “gate of truth”; all who went through it were obliged to say what they thought, upon which she exclaimed: “Ah, then I should get to know what I think myself!” One of those present said that those were exactly the words which the Danish Bishop Monrad had used when he heard of the gate. “And he was called a sphinx,” added the speaker.

She sat quietly for a little while, became paler and paler, and then got up. Some time after she was found in an adjoining room weeping.

A learned man said at the dinner-table: “Those who are destined for something great know it from childhood.” “Yes, but they know not for what!” she rejoined quickly. But then she became embarrassed. She tried to make a better thing of it, and said: “Some know it, and others don’t,” and then she became more abashed, and her embarrassment gave her an irresistible charm. People like to be conscious of the presence of lofty yearnings, even though they don’t betray themselves.

In a confidential circle one evening people were talking of a young widow. “She is rejuvenating herself in a new love,” said one.

“No, she is rather taking up a mission, a self-sacrificing mission,” said another, who maintained that he knew her better.

“Well, I don’t care which it is, provided she is devoting herself to something,” said the first. “It is in devotion to something outside oneself that salvation is found–call it rejuvenation or what you will.”

She had been listening to this. At first she was indifferent, then she pricked up her ears, and finally her attention became riveted. Then she broke out: “No, the point is not to devote oneself.” No one replied; it made a strange impression. Had anything happened, or was it a presentiment? Or was she thinking of something special, which no one present knew anything about? Or of something great for the sake of which it was worth waiting?

That which seems a little mysterious impresses people’s minds. The better principled, the higher natured among the officers conceived respect for her. The feeling spread, and bore fruit. With disciplined wills, nothing takes root more quickly than respect.

There were certainly some who saw in her “devil take me!” the finest thoroughbred in Norway. Again there were those who would “by all the powers!” have given their hope of salvation for–I dare not say for what. But there were also those who thought of the times of chivalry and saw in their mind’s eye the token the lady fastened on her true knight’s breast as a consecration. A glance, a word from her, a dance with her, was the token. Her glory fell upon them, there was something nobler and more beautiful in them from that moment.