After a long time, however, fortune favored him and brought him a
greeting.

Pelle took no personal part in the knocking that every evening after the
lights were out sounded through the immense building as if a thousand
death-ticks were at work. He had enough of his own to think about, and
only knocked those messages on that had to pass through his cell. One
day, however, a new prisoner was placed in the cell next to his, and
woke him. He was a regular frequenter of the establishment, and
immediately set about proclaiming his arrival in all directions. It was
Druk-Valde, "Widow" Rasmussen's idler of a sweetheart, who used to stand
all the winter through in the gateway in Chapel Road, and spit over the
toes of his well-polished shoes.

Yes, Valde knew Pelle's family well; his sweetheart had looked after the
children when Ellen, during the great conflict, began to go out to work.
Ellen had been very successful, and still held her head high. She sewed
uppers and had a couple of apprentices to help her, and she was really
doing pretty well. She did not associate with any one, not even with her
relatives, for she never left her children.

Druk-Valde had to go to the wall every evening; the most insignificant
detail was of the greatest importance. Pelle could see Ellen as if she
were standing in the darkness before him, pale, always clad in black,
always serious. She had broken with her parents; she had sacrificed
everything for his sake! She even talked about him so that the children
should not have forgotten him by the time he came back. "The little
beggars think you're travelling," said Valde.

So everything was all right! It was like sunshine in his heart to know