“Oh, splendid! I AM so glad!” And she dried her hand and grasped his.
“Here you are—sausages, anchovies—and here’s a bottle of brandy—the first I ever bought in my life. Klaus is coming up later on to have a glass of toddy. And here’s cheese. We’ll make things hum to-night.”
Klaus came, and the two youths drank toddy and smoked and made speeches, and Louise played patriotic songs on her violin, and Klaus gazed at her and asked for “more—more.”
When he left, Peer went with him, and as the two walked down the street, Klaus took his friend’s arm, and pointed to the pale moon riding high above the fjord, and vowed never to give him up, till he stood at the very top of the tree—never, never! Besides, he was a Socialist now, he said, and meant to raise a revolt against all class distinctions. And Louise—Louise was the most glorious girl in all the world—and now—and now—Peer might just as well know it sooner as later—they were as good as engaged to be married, he and Louise.
Peer pushed him away, and stood staring at him. “Go home now, and go to bed,” he said.
“Ha! You think I’m not man enough to defy my people—to defy the whole world!”
“Good-night,” said Peer.
Next morning, as Louise lay in bed—she had asked to have her breakfast there for once in a way—she suddenly began to laugh. “What ARE you about now?” she asked teasingly.
“Shaving,” said Peer, beginning operations.
“Shaving! Are you so desperate to be grand to-day that you must scrape all your skin off? You know there’s nothing else to shave.”