He did not stay long; he gave his name and address, a woman embraced him, soaking as he was; the pale, distracted man pressed his watch into his hand. Johannes found himself in a cabin where two men were busy with the drowning girl. They said: "Now she's coming round, her pulse is going!" Johannes looked at the sufferer, a fair young girl in a short frock; her frock was all torn open at the back. Then a man put a hat on his head and he was led out.
He did not know exactly how he got ashore and pulled the boat up. He heard another cheer raised and the band playing a gay tune as the ship steamed away. A luxurious wave of rapture, cold and sweet, rolled through him from head to foot; he smiled and moved his lips.
"No row for us today then," said Ditlef. He looked annoyed about it.
Victoria had come, she joined them and said quickly:
"What are you thinking of? He must go home and change his clothes."
Ah, what an event, in his nineteenth year!
Johannes started off home. The music and the loud cheering still rang in his ears, a powerful emotion drove him on and on. He went past his home and took the path through the wood to the quarry. Here he looked out for a good place were the sun was warm. His clothes were steaming. He sat down. A wild, blissful unrest made him get up and walk about again. How full of happiness he was! He fell on his knees and thanked God with hot tears for this day. She was standing below there, she had heard the cheering. Go home and put on dry clothes, she said.
He sat down and laughed again and again, rapt with joy. Yes, she had seen him do it, this heroic deed; she had watched him with pride as he came back with the drowning girl in his teeth. Victoria, Victoria! Did she know how unspeakably he was hers every minute of his life? He would be her servant and her slave and sweep a way for her with his shoulders. And he would kiss her little shoes and draw her carriage and put logs in her stove on cold days. Gilt logs he would put in her stove, Victoria.
He looked around. Nobody heard him, he was all by himself. In his hand he held the valuable watch, it was ticking, it went.
Thanks, thanks for this good day! He patted the moss on the stones and the fallen twigs. Victoria had not smiled at him; no, but that was not her way. She simply stood on the pier; a little tinge of red flew over her cheeks. Perhaps she would have liked his watch if he had given it her?