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The Attorney was incautious enough to remark: "Why don't you write about the sunshine, then?" It was not many days since Paulsberg himself, in Milde's studio, had bluntly expressed an opinion to the effect that Attorney Grande had showed symptoms of a certain arrogance lately. He was right, the Attorney was becoming a little impertinent; it might be well to put him in his place once and for all.
This was sufficient to make everybody laugh. The Journalist shouted: "But have you seen Milde's collection of corsets? Out with the corsets, Milde!" And Milde did not refuse; he went into one of the side rooms and brought forth his package. There were both white and brown ones; the white ones were a little grey, and Mrs. Paulsberg asked in surprise: "But have they been used?"
I was just going to say the same. I have just left the Grand By the way, I have an invitation for you; we are both going to the farewell celebration for Ojen quite a number will be there." "Is that so? Where is it going to be?" "In Milde's studio. You are going, I hope?" "Yes; I will be there." They went back to their accounts.
None other than oil-painter Milde, collector of ladies' corsets! Of course, he knew how it had happened; Paulsberg was behind it. Paulsberg had supported Milde's application, and Milde had painted Paulsberg's picture. A simon-pure advertising conspiracy! And when Irgens passed the Arrow and saw the painting he spat contemptuously on the pavement. He had seen through this hypocritical scurviness.
Smell of paints and tobacco smoke; brushes, tubes, overcoats which the guests had thrown aside; an old rubber shoe filled with nails and junk; on the easel in the corner a large, half-finished portrait of Paulsberg. This was Milde's studio. When Ole Henriksen entered about nine o'clock all the guests were assembled, also Tidemand and his wife. There were altogether ten or twelve people.
Suddenly Tidemand whispered: "Can I come over and see you to-morrow about a business matter? I would like to come early, about ten, if you have time then? All right; thanks!" At Milde's corner of the table the discussion had swung to wines old wines, Johannisberger, Cabinet, Musigny.
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.
Liberia never came, anyway. "He sulks," said Milde, and drank with Norem, the Actor. "He did not want to come because Norem was invited." Nobody felt the least constraint; they chatted about everything, drank, and made plenty of noise. It was a splendid place, Milde's studio; as soon as one got inside the door one felt free to do or say anything one's inclination prompted. Mrs.
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.
While he was sitting alone with the Attorney and the Actor he had found the miserable Tutor's bitter sarcasms amusing, but no sooner had one of the Authors appeared than he felt outraged and struck his fist on the table. It was Milde's excellent habit always to await reinforcements. Coldevin looked at him. "Do you think so?" he said. "I'll be damned if I don't."
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