"Hurry up, now!" called Irgens.
"Just a moment, Mr. Irgens," said the driver; "the lady is not quite ready."
"Do you know me?" asked Irgens in surprise.
"I certainly do," said the cabman.
"He knows you! he knows you!" cried Aagot as she stumbled down the steps.
She had not put on her wrap yet; it was dragging after her and she tripped
in it. Her eyes were expressionless and staring. Suddenly she laughed.
"That nasty fellow, Gregersen; he was kicking me on the leg all the time!
I am sure I am black and blue! Imagine, Irgens, the cabby knows you!"
"You are drunk," said Irgens brutally, and helped her into the carriage.
Her hat was awry, she tried to get into her coat and she babbled incoherently.
"No, I am not drunk; I am only a little cheerful—Won't you see if my leg is bruised? I am sure I am dripping blood! It hurts, too; but that doesn't matter; nothing matters now. Drunk, you say? What if I am? It is your fault. I do everything for your sake—do it gladly—Ha, ha, ha! I have to laugh when I think of that wretched Gregersen. He told me he would write the most beautiful article about me if I would only let him see where he had kicked me. It is different if you see it—That was an awful strong wine; it makes my head swim—And all those cigarettes!"
"Drive on, damn you!" cried Irgens.
And the carriage rolled off.