Instead of replying, the other began whistling an unknown and very peculiar tune.
"Let's thrash his red-haired cubs when they come home from school! I say! Doesn't his old woman fancy herself? The old she-devil locked us out in the snow the other night because we couldn't pay the rent, and we had to spend the night in the barn."
The conversation flickered out; the last item of conversation had not made the smallest impression on Janne's friend.
After this introduction to the status of the tenants by the two urchins, Falk entered the house not with the pleasantest of sensations. He was received at the door by Struve, who looked distressed, and took Falk's arm as if he were going to confide a secret to him, or suppress a tear—he had to do something, so he embraced him.
Falk found himself in a big room with a dining-table, a sideboard, six chairs, and a coffin. White sheets were hanging before the windows through which the daylight filtered and broke at the red glow of the tallow candles; on the table stood a tray with green wine glasses, and a soup tureen filled with dahlias, stocks, and white asters.
Struve seized Falk's hand and led him to the coffin where the baby lay bedded on shavings, covered with tulle, and strewn with fuchsias.
"There!" he said, "there!"
Falk felt nothing but the quite commonplace emotion the living always feel in the presence of the dead; he could think of nothing suitable to say, and therefore he confined himself to pressing the father's hand. "Thank you, thank you," stammered Struve, and disappeared in an adjoining room.
Falk was left alone; he could hear excited whispering behind the door through which Struve had vanished; then it grew still for a while; but presently a murmur from the other end of the room penetrated the matchboard wall. A strident treble seemed to be reciting long verses with incredible volubility.
"Babebibobubybäbö—Babebibobubybäbö—Babebibobubybäbö," it sounded.