"I simply cannot understand it; no, I can't. Did you send your book with your application?"
"Certainly—Oh, my book! I might as well not have written it; so far nobody seems to have noticed it. There has been no review of it so far in any of the papers." And, angry because of this newspaper neglect of his work, he gritted his teeth and walked up and down.
She looked sadly at him.
"Now, don't allow this to embitter you," she said. "You have great provocation, but all the same—You can live without that miserable subsidy. You know that nobody is your equal!"
"And what good does that do me? Judge for yourself; my book has not been mentioned in a single newspaper!"
Mrs. Hanka had for the first time—yes, for the very first time—a feeling that her hero was not the superior being she had imagined. A shuddering thought pierced her heart: he did not carry his disappointment with more than ordinary pride. She looked at him a little closer. His eyes were not so clear, his mouth was drawn and his nostrils dilated. But it was only a shuddering thought.
Then he added: "You might do me the favour to try to interest Gregersen in my book, and see if he won't review it in the Gazette." And as he noticed that she grew more and more thoughtful, that she even looked interrogatingly straight into his eyes, he added: "Of course, you need not ask him directly—only give him a little hint, a reminder."
Could this be Irgens? But she remembered at once his painful position, alone as he was, fighting a conspiracy single-handed; and she excused him. She ought to have thought of giving Gregersen a little hint herself and spared her Poet this humiliation. Yes, she certainly would speak to Gregersen at once.
And Irgens thanked her; his bitterness vanished slowly. They sat silently on the sofa some time; then she said:
"Listen! An awful thing happened with that red tie of yours—you remember the one I took from you once? He saw it!"