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Updated: May 31, 2025
It was true he had not celebrated Pelle's victory with a flourish of trumpets, but had preferred to be his conscience! That was really at the bottom of it. He had intoxicated himself in the noise, and wanted to find something with which to drown Morten's quiet warning voice, and the accusation was not far to seek envy! It was he himself, in fact, who had been the one to disappoint.
They went in through the gate and up the back stairs; Morten went into the shop and returned with five "Napoleons." "You see I know your taste," he said laughing. Morten's room was right up under the roof; it was a kind of turret-room with windows on both sides.
"Tell me about the house out there and Boy Comfort," she said, making room for him on the edge of the bed. "It's so tiresome here, and Mr. Morten's so serious." And she threw a glance of defiance at him. "Is he?" said Pelle. "That must be because he writes books." "No, but I must keep up a little dignity," said Morten, assuming a funny, schoolmasterish expression.
But Ellen was familiar with the remoteness that came into his eyes at such times, and she knew how to dispel it with a kiss. One day he met Morten in the street. Pelle was delighted, but there was a sceptical expression in Morten's eyes. "Why don't you ever come to see me now?" asked Pelle. "I often long to see you, but I can't well get away from home."
There seemed to be a sort of mysterious connection between them and Morten's peculiar, still energy. He had now a whole shelf full. Pelle took a few down and looked into them. "What sort of stuff is this, now?" he asked doubtfully. "It looks like learning!" "Those are books about us, and how the new conditions are coming, and how we must make ready for them."
On his way home Pelle pondered honestly over Morten's words, but he had to admit that he couldn't take them in. No, he had no occasion to surround his person with any sort of holiness or halo; he was only a healthy body, and he just wanted to do things. Pelle came rushing home from Master Beck's workshop, threw off his coat and waistcoat, and thrust his head into a bucket of water.
I haven't your fund to draw from, Pelle, remember that!" No, there had not been much sunshine on Morten's path, and now he cowered and shivered with cold. One evening, however, he rushed into the sitting-room, waving a sheet of paper. "I've received a legacy," he cried. "Tomorrow morning I shall start for the South." "But you'll have to arrange your affairs first," said Pelle. "Arrange?"
Ellen was still his very life, however violently he might deny it. Her questioning eyes still gazed at him enigmatically, from whatever corner of existence he might approach. He had a strong feeling now that she had held herself ready all this time that she had sat waiting for him, expecting him. How would she accept this? From Castle Street he saw a light in Morten's room.
"Are those the new ideas? I think the ignorant have always had to take the consequences! And there has never been lacking some one to spit on them!" said Morten sadly. "But, listen!" cried Pelle, springing to his feet. "You'll please not blame me for spitting at anybody the others did that!" He was very near losing his temper again, but Morten's quiet manner mastered him.
But Ellen was familiar with the remoteness that came into his eyes at such times, and she knew how to dispel it with a kiss. One day he met Morten in the street. Pelle was delighted, but there was a sceptical expression in Morten's eyes. "Why don't you ever come to see me now?" asked Pelle. "I often long to see you, but I can't well get away from home."
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