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But suddenly it seemed as if Irgens's insolence had roused him; he said bluntly and without connection with what had been discussed before: "Tell me one thing Or, let me rather say it myself: These poets are turning everything upside down; nobody dares to grumble. An author might owe in unsecured debts his twenty thousand what of it? He is unable to pay, that is all.
"Now, no nonsense! Are you going to take me to dinner?" "May I be permitted to shake hands first?" It was finally arranged that they should take a run up to Irgens's rooms to sample the brandy, after which they were to return to the Grand for dinner. Tidemand and the Attorney walked ahead. "It is a good thing that we have these peddlers to fall back on," said Milde to Irgens.
Ole warned her again about being careful; she would have to dress properly. Even Tidemand had spoken about these risky boat-rides so early in the season. "And you are going to be the hostess!" he chaffed her. "What a darling little mistress! By the way, what are you reading?" "Oh, that is only Irgens's poems," she answered. "Don't say 'only' Irgens's poems," he chided her playfully.
He nodded and glanced at the waving flags, counted them, and followed their graceful billowing against the blue sky. Here and there a few pale theatre bills were posted on pillars; he went from one to another and read great and famous names masterpieces from earlier periods. He happened to think of Irgens's lyric drama, but he looked for it in vain.
The friends considered. It was not a bad idea; a better place would be hard to find. The studio was big and roomy as a barn, with two cosy adjoining rooms. Milde's studio, then settled. The affair was coming off in a few days. The four gentlemen stopped at Irgens's place, drank his brandy, and went out again.
She would overwhelm Irgens with this joyful news, he who had so often sighed for that divorce during their most intimate hours Irgens was at home at last. She told him the great news at once. She recounted how it had happened, repeated Tidemand's words, and praised his superiority. She gazed into Irgens's eyes; her own were sparkling.
"Dear me, how you know everything!" sneered the Journalist. But Milde nudged him secretly and whispered: "Leave him alone! Let him talk. He, he! He really believes what he says; he trembles with eagerness and conviction. He is a sight in our day and generation!" The Attorney asked him: "Have you read Irgens's latest book?" "Yes, I have read it. Why do you ask?"
Tidemand paced back and forth, mumbling, figuring, calculating every contingency regarding this business in tar. He happened to see a long entry in the ledger which was lying open on his desk. It was Irgens's account. Tidemand glanced at it indifferently; old loans, bad debts, wine and loans, wine and cash. The entries were dated several years back; there were none during the last year.
God knows she had not meant to pain him; she had said it in all innocence, without any veiled thought or ulterior motive; but when Irgens's head drooped and he said quietly, "Yes, I understand!" it occurred to her that several interpretations might be placed upon this sentence, and she added hurriedly: "For you do not see me very often.
God only knew where he kept himself. She had not once seen her former husband. She started for Irgens's rooms. Surely he would help her find a place and get settled!
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