"Yes, yes, you are right; it is true. You were speaking to me; I understood it only too well; you are right, right, right! Oh, but it is going to be different! You said that I couldn't, that it was not within my power; but I can; I will show you! I understand it all now; you have opened my eyes. Dear, do not be angry with me. I have done a great wrong, but—"
She wept with dry eyes. She swallowed hard. She sat on the very edge of the chair in her excitement. He injected a word now and then, nodded, shook his head when she appeared too disconsolate, and in his confusion he called her "Aagot, dearest Aagot." She must not apply everything he had said to herself, not at all. Of course, he had thought of her, too, that was true; but then he had been mistaken—thank God for that! He had simply wanted to warn her. She was so young; he, who was older, knew better from where danger threatened. But now she must forget it and be cheerful.
They continued to speak. Irgens grew impatient and rose. He stretched himself and yawned as if to indicate that he was going. Suddenly he remembered something he had forgotten. He walked quickly over to the bar and got some roasted coffee which he put in his vest pocket.
Milde settled the checks. He flung money around with the greatest unconcern; then he said good-bye and left. A moment afterward they saw him bow to a lady outside. He spoke a few words and they walked away through a side-street. The lady wore a long boa which billowed behind her in the breeze.
And still Aagot and Coldevin sat there.
"Won't you take me home? Excuse me a moment, I want to—"
She ran over to Irgens's table and took her coat from the chair.
"Are you going?" he asked her in amazement.
"Yes. Ugh—I won't do this any more. Goodbye!"
"What won't you do any more? Don't you want me to take you home?"