xeunt

When they brought the body home, the next morning, Gudrun was shut up in her room. From her window she saw men coming along with a burden, over the snow. She sat still and let the minutes go by.

There came a tap at her door. She opened. There stood a woman, saying softly, oh, far too reverently:

‘They have found him, madam!’

‘Il est mort?’

‘Yes — hours ago.’

Gudrun did not know what to say. What should she say? What should she feel? What should she do? What did they expect of her? She was coldly at a loss.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and she shut the door of her room. The woman went away mortified. Not a word, not a tear —