Carrying her daughter she went downstairs, where the table was set for all of them. Otherwise the children usually ate by themselves. Her husband sat in his usual spot, and she immediately made the same observation as the nanny: He didn’t sleep last night! She felt bad for him, as we do for people we have harmed. He sat there with his grief and hurt wrapped around him like a frayed jacket for everyone to see and feel sorry for. And here I come with my sacrifice, she thought; and to bear it, she had to imagine the face of her lover in front of her like an invisible shield. But the three pairs of eyes, which were turned mutely toward her, made her waver. She despised herself: Is all of life like an opera? She wanted to sing: Goodbye, goodbye, now I’m leaving and I’m taking someone else instead of you.

She sat down, defiant and erect at the table end, smiling bravely at her children. But she didn’t dare look at Miss Hansen. Why did she arrange this comical farce, she thought angrily. All that’s missing is lit candles on the table. Her son was grumpy and sleepy, as she had predicted. Suddenly she gave him an icy look, as if he had nothing to do with her, while she pushed in the chair under her daughter and tied the bib around her neck. For a moment it all seemed to her like a long, drawn-out sentimental scene from an American film, constructed so pitifully that people react by bursting out laughing: The sweet children, the wronged father, the loyal maid, and the flighty mother. What did all these people have to do with her? Why were they taking advantage of her love for this child? Only one single person really mattered to her, and he wasn’t here. But his shadow suffused her expression like a flimsy defense against something horrible. And beyond him: millions of miserable children, tons of loyal housekeepers and an incalculable army of lovers, abandoned husbands, disloyal husbands, betrayed and flighty women, all kinds of people, all kinds of lives, and all equally lonely. And overshadowing everything: some kind of law, war, profound misery, making a living, fear of the newspapers’ bold headlines, a world in tension, and hopelessly patient calm. A whip is raised over all of us; where and whom will it hit?

She ate her egg in silence, letting the nanny take care of the children. She still had not met her husband’s gaze. You have to do it, her lover had said. Time is of the essence. If you keep on being weak and yielding, life will pass you by. Try to see it from a broader perspective.