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They entered the Grand, passed by the tables where people sat drinking and smoking, and found Irgens far back in the room. Milde and Norem were with him. "So here you are!" called Ole. Irgens gave him his left hand and did not get up. He glanced through half-closed lids at Aagot. "This, Aagot, is the poet Irgens." Ole presented him, somewhat proud of his intimate acquaintance with the great man.
It is twelve before people begin to group themselves on the "corner," young and carefree gentlemen who can afford to sleep late and do what they feel like. There are a few from the well-known clique, Milde and Norem and Ojen. It is cold, and they are shivering. The conversation is not very lively.
And he would always, always have the memory of her visit to treasure. And she went with him, timid, fearful, but happy. Milde and Gregersen walked down the street together. They talked about Milde's portrait of Paulsberg which had been bought by the National Galleries; about the Actor Norem, who, together with a comrade, had been found drunk in a gutter and had been arrested; about Mrs.
Milde blazed up, but only for a moment. Even this direct insult did not make him lose his temper. He swallowed it, mumbled a reply, said finally that he had not intended to be rude; he would apologise.... But Norem, who sat there drunk and dull, could no longer repress his amusement. He only saw the comical side of the incident and cried laughingly: "Have you touched this fellow, too, Milde?
Aagot asked quickly, with big, bewildered eyes: "Thranes Road, did you say? Irgens, he was standing below your windows!" Her heart was fluttering with fear. Coldevin observed her fixedly; he made sure that she should notice he was staring straight at her. Meanwhile Norem continued his impossible tirade.
Coldevin had undoubtedly spoken intentionally. He had even addressed his remarks very plainly. Irgens bit his moustache occasionally. But now Norem woke up. He understood that something was happening before his dull eyes, and he began to mix in, to declaim about business morals. It was the rottenest morality on earth, usury a morality for Jews! Was it right to demand usurious interest?
There were Ojen, Norem, and Gregersen, all of them with half-empty wine-glasses in front of them. Ojen jumped up and said pleasantly: "Welcome home, old man! I am glad to see you again. I have missed you a good deal. I am coming down to-morrow to see you. There is something I want to see you about." Gregersen gave him a finger. Ole took it, sat down, and told the waiter to bring him his beer.
And she recounted merrily the climax. Norem had retired to a corner and was fast asleep. "Does anybody know the time?" asked Mrs. Paulsberg. "Don't ask me," said Gregersen, and fumbled at his vest pocket. "It is many a day since I carried a watch!" It turned out that it was one o'clock. About half-past one Mrs. Hanka and Irgens had disappeared.
With sixty-five votes to forty-four it had decided to postpone matters indefinitely; five representatives had suddenly been taken ill and could not participate in the voting. Milde declared that he was going to Australia. "But you are painting Paulsberg?" objected Norem, the Actor. "Well, what of it? I can finish that picture in a couple of days."
He had really drawn a few very funny caricatures and made ruinous fun of the impossible poem. Norem said nothing. Suddenly Lars Paulsberg bobs up; with him is Gregersen. The group is growing; everybody takes notice; so much is gathered here in a very small space. Literature is in the ascendant; literature dominates the entire sidewalk.
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