They had arrived at the dessert. The champagne sparkled in the glasses which reflected the rays of light from the chandelier in Nicholas Falk's dining-room. Arvid was greeted on all sides with friendly hand-shakes, compliments and congratulations, warnings and advice; everybody wanted to be present and share in his triumph, for he had had a decided success.

"Assessor Falk! I'm delighted!" said the President of the Board of Payment of EmployÉs' Salaries, nodding to him across the table. "I fully appreciate your talent."

Arvid tranquilly pocketed the insulting compliment.

"Why are your poems so melancholy?" asked a young beauty on the poet's right. "One might almost think you were suffering from an unhappy love-affair."

"Assessor Falk, allow me to drink your health," said the chief editor of the Grey Bonnet, from the left, stroking his long, blond beard. "Why don't you write for my paper?"

"I shouldn't think you would print my articles," replied Arvid.

"I don't see why we shouldn't."

"Our opinions differ so very widely...."

"Oh! That isn't half as bad as you think. One compromises. We have no opinions."

"Your health, Falk!" shouted the excited Lundell, from the other side of the table. "Your health!"

Levi and Borg had to hold him, otherwise he would have risen and made a speech. It was for the first time that Lundell was invited to a dinner of this sort, and the brilliant assembly and luxurious food and drink intoxicated him; but as all the guests were more or less merry, he fortunately excited no unpleasant attention.

Arvid Falk's heart beat faster at the sight of all these people who had readmitted him to their circle without asking for explanations or apologies. It gave him a sense of security to sit on those old chairs, which had been a part of the home of his childhood. With a feeling of melancholy he recognized the tall table-centre which in the old times had only seen daylight once a year. But the number of new people distracted him; their friendly faces did not deceive him; certainly they did not wish him evil, but their friendship depended on a combination of circumstances.

Moreover, he saw the whole entertainment in the light of a masquerade. What mutual interest could possibly form a bond between his uncultured brother and Professor Borg, the man with the great scientific reputation? They were shareholders in the same company! What was the proud Captain Gyllenborst doing here? Had he come for the sake of the dinner? Impossible, even though a man will go a long way for the sake of a good dinner. And the President? The Admiral? There must have been invisible ties, strong, unbreakable ties perhaps.

The mirth increased, but the laughter was too shrill; the lips were overflowing with wit, but the wit was biting. Falk felt ill at ease; it seemed to him that his father's eyes were looking angrily at the assembly from the painted canvas which hung over the piano.

Nicholas Falk beamed with satisfaction; he neither saw nor heard any unpleasantness, but he avoided meeting his brother's eyes as much as possible. They had not spoken to each other yet, for Arvid, in compliance with Levin's instructions, had not arrived until after all the guests had been assembled.

The dinner was approaching its end. Nicholas made a speech on "the stamina and firm resolution" which are necessary to accomplish a man's purpose: the achievement of financial independence and a good social position. "These two qualities," said the speaker, "raise a man's self-respect and endow him with that firmness without which his efforts are unavailing, at any rate as far as the general good is concerned. And the general welfare, gentlemen, must always be our highest endeavour; I have no doubt that—if the truth were known—it is the ambition of every one here present. I drink the health of all those who have this day honoured my house, and I hope that I may often—in the future—enjoy the same privilege."

Captain Gyllenborst, who was slightly intoxicated, replied in a lengthy, facetious speech which, delivered at a different house, before people in a different mood, would have been called scandalous.

He abused the commercial spirit which was spreading, and declared that he had plenty of self-respect, although he was by no means financially independent; he had been obliged, this very morning, to settle some business of a most disagreeable nature—but in spite of this he had sufficient strength of character to be present at the banquet; and as far as his social position was concerned, it was second to none—he felt sure that this was everybody's opinion, for otherwise he would not be sitting at this table, the guest of so charming a host.

When he had concluded, the party drew a breath of relief. "It was as if a thundercloud had passed over our heads," remarked the beauty, and Arvid Falk heartily agreed.

There was so much humbug, so much deceit in the atmosphere that Arvid longed to take his leave. These people, who appeared so honest and respectable, seemed to be held by an invisible chain at which they tore every now and then with suppressed fury. Captain Gyllenborst treated his host with open, though facetious contempt. He smoked a cigar in the drawing-room, generally behaved like a boor, and took no notice whatever of the ladies. He spat in the fire-place, mercilessly criticized the oleographs on the walls, and loudly expressed his contempt for the mahogany furniture. The other gentlemen were indifferent; they gave Falk the impression that they were on duty.

Irritated and upset, he left the party unnoticed.

In the street below stood Olle waiting for him.

"I really didn't think you would come," said Olle. "It's so beautifully light up there."

"What a reason! I wish you'd been there!"

"How is Lundell getting on in smart society?"

"Don't envy him. He won't have an easy time if he's going to make his way as a portrait-painter. But let's talk of something else. I have been longing for this evening, so as to study the working man at close quarters. It will be like a breath of fresh air after these deadly fumes; I feel as if I were allowed to take a stroll in the wood, after having long been laid up in a hospital. I wonder whether I shall be disillusioned."

"The working man is suspicious; you will have to be careful."

"Is he generous? Free from pettiness? Or has the pressure which has lain on him for so long spoiled him?"

"You'll be able to see for yourself. Most things in this world differ from our expectations."

"That's true, unfortunately."

Half an hour later they had arrived in the great hall of the working men's union "Star of the North." The place was already crowded. Arvid's black dress-coat did not create a good impression; he caught many an unfriendly glance from angry eyes.

Olle introduced Arvid to a tall, gaunt man with a face full of passion, who seemed to be troubled with an incessant cough.

"Joiner Eriksson!"

"That's me," said the latter, "and is this one of those gentlemen who want to put up for election? He doesn't look big enough for that."

"No, no," said Olle, "he's here for the newspaper."

"Which newspaper? There are so many different sorts. Perhaps he's come to make fun of us?"

"No, no, nothing of the sort," said Olle. "He's a friend, and he'll do all he can for you."

"I see! That alters the matter. But I don't trust those gentlemen; one of them lived with us, that is to say, we lived in the same house, in the White Mountains; he was the landlord's agent—Struve was the rascal's name."

There was a rap with the hammer. The chair was taken by an elderly man, Wheelwright LÖfgren, alderman and holder of the medal Litteris et artibus. He had held many offices and acquired a great deal of dramatic routine. A certain venerability, capable of quelling storms and silencing noisy meetings, characterized him. His broad face, ornamented by side-whiskers and a pair of spectacles, was framed by a judge's wig.

The secretary who sat at his side was one of the supernumeraries of the great Board of Functionaries; he wore eye-glasses and expressed with a peasant's grin his dissatisfaction with everything that was said.

The front bench was filled by the most aristocratic members of the Union: officers, Government officials, wholesale merchants; they supported all loyal resolutions, and with their superior parliamentary skill voted against every attempt at reform.

The secretary read the minutes, which the front bench approved.

Next the first item of the agenda was read:

"The Preparatory Committee would suggest that the working men's union 'Star of the North' should express the dissatisfaction which every right-thinking citizen must feel in regard to the unlawful movements which under the name of strikes are spreading nearly all over Europe."

"Is this the pleasure of the Union?"

"Yes, yes!" shouted the front bench.

"Mr. President!" called out the joiner from the White Mountains.

"Who is making so much noise at the back?" asked the chairman, looking over his spectacles with a face which suggested that he would presently have recourse to the cane.

"Nobody is making any noise; I am asking for permission to speak."

"Who is I?"

"Master-joiner Eriksson."

"Are you a master? Since when?"

"I am a journeyman out of my time; I have never had the means to be made free of the city, but I am every bit as skilful as any other master and I work on my own account."

"I request the journeyman-joiner Eriksson to sit down and stop interfering. Is it the pleasure of the Union to reply to the question in the affirmative?"

"Mr. Chairman!"

"What is the matter?"

"I ask permission to speak! Let me speak!" bellowed Eriksson.

There was a murmur on the back benches: "Eriksson's turn to speak."

"Journeyman Eriksson—do you spell your name with an x or a z?" asked the chairman, prompted by the secretary.

The front bench shook with laughter.

"I don't spell, gentlemen, I discuss," said the joiner with blazing eyes. "I discuss, I say. If I had the gift of making speeches, I should show you that the strikers are right; for if masters and principals grow fat because they have nothing to do but to fawn and cringe at levees, and similar ceremonies, the working man must pay the piper with his sweat. We know why you won't pay us just wages; it's because we should get the Parliamentary vote, and that's what you are afraid of...."

"Mr. Chairman!"

"Captain von Sporn!"

"Mr. Chairman, gentlemen! It is much to be regretted that at a meeting of this Union, which has a reputation for dignified conduct (last displayed at the Royal wedding), people without the smallest trace of Parliamentary tact should be permitted to compromise a respectable society by a shameless and reckless contempt of all seemliness. Believe me, gentlemen, such a thing could never have happened in a country where from early youth military discipline...."

"Conscription," said Eriksson to Olle.

"... had been the rule; where the habit of controlling oneself and others had been acquired! I believe I am expressing the general feeling of the meeting when I say that I hope that such a distressing scene may never again occur amongst us. I say us—for I, too, am a working man—we all are in the sight of the Eternal—and I say it as a member of this Union. The day would be a day of mourning when I should find myself compelled to withdraw the words which I recently uttered at another meeting (it was at the meeting of the National League of Promoters of Conscription), the words: 'I have a high opinion of the Swedish working man.'"

"Hear, hear! Hear, hear!"

"Does the meeting accept the suggestion of the Preparatory Committee?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Second item: At the instigation of several members of the Union, the Preparatory Committee submit to the meeting the proposal to collect a sum, not exceeding three thousand crowns, as a testimonial to the Duke of Dalsland at his forthcoming confirmation. The gift is to be an expression of the gratitude of the working man to the Royal Family and, more especially, of his disapproval of those working men's disturbances which under the name of 'Commune' devastated the French capital."

"Mr. Chairman!"

"Doctor Haberfeld!"

"No, it's I, Eriksson; I ask permission to say a few words."

"Oh! Well! Eriksson has permission to speak."

"I merely want to point out that not the working men, but officials, lawyers, officers—conscripts—and journalists were to blame for the Commune at Paris. If I had the gift of making speeches, I should ask those gentlemen to express their ideas in an album of confessions."

"Does the meeting agree to the proposal?"

"Yes, yes!"

And the clerks began to write and to check and to chatter, exactly as they had done at the Parliamentary meetings.

"Are things always managed in this way?" asked Falk.

"Don't you think it amusing, sir?" said Eriksson. "It's enough to turn one's hair grey. I call it corruption and treachery. Nothing but meanness and selfishness. There isn't a man amongst them who has the cause really at heart. And therefore the things which must happen will happen."

"What things?"

"We'll see!" said the joiner, taking Olle's hand. "Are you ready? Hold your own ground, you'll be sharply criticized."

Olle nodded slyly.

"Stonemason, journeyman, Olle Montanus has announced a lecture on Sweden; the subject is a big one. But if he will promise not to exceed half an hour, we will hear what he has got to say. What do you say, gentlemen?"

"Hear! Hear!"

"If you please, Mr. Montanus."

Olle shook himself like a dog about to jump, and threaded his way through the assembly, who examined him with curious eyes.

The chairman began a brief conversation with the front bench, and the secretary yawned before taking up a newspaper, to show the meeting that he, for one, was not going to listen.

Olle stepped on the platform, lowered his heavy eyelids and moved his jaws, pretending to be speaking; when the room had grown really silent, so silent that everybody could hear what the chairman said to the captain, he began:

"On Sweden. Some points of view."

And after a pause:

"Gentlemen! It might be more than an unfounded supposition to say that the most productive idea and the most vigorous striving of our times is the suppression of short-sighted patriotism, which divides nations and pits them against one another as foes; we have seen the means used to gain this object, namely, international exhibitions and their results: honorary diplomas."

The audience looked puzzled. "What's he driving at?" said Eriksson. "It's rather unexpected, but it sounds all right."

"Now, as in the past, Sweden marches at the head of civilization; she has more than any other nation spread the cosmopolitan ideal, and if one may rely on statistics, she has attained a great deal. Exceptionally favourable circumstances have contributed to this result. I will examine them shortly, and then pass on to lighter subjects such as the form of government, the ground-tax, and so on."

"It's going to be rather long," said Eriksson, nudging Arvid, "but he's an amusing chap."

"Sweden, as everybody knows, was originally a German colony, and the Swedish language, which has been preserved fairly pure to our days, is neither more nor less than Low-German and its twelve dialects. This circumstance—I mean the difficulty of communicating with one another, experienced by the provinces—has been a powerful factor in counteracting the development of that unhealthy national feeling. Other fortunate facts have opposed a one-sided German influence which had reached its pinnacle when Sweden became a German province under Albrecht of Mecklenburg. The foremost of these facts is the conquest of the Danish provinces: Scania, Halland, Bleking, BohuslÄn, and Dalsland; Sweden's richest provinces are inhabited by Danes who still speak the language of their country and refuse to acknowledge the Swedish rule."

"What in the name of fortune is he getting at? Is he mad?"

"The inhabitants of Scania, for instance, to this day look upon Copenhagen as their capital, and constitute the opposition in Parliament. The same thing applies to the Danish GÖteborg, which does not acknowledge Stockholm as the capital of the realm. An English settlement has sprung up there and English influence is predominant. These people, the English people, fish in the waters near the coast, and during the winter very nearly all the wholesale trade is in their hands; they return to their own country in the summer and enjoy their winter profits in their villas in the Scotch Highlands. Very excellent people, though! They have even their own newspaper, in which they commend their own actions, without, it must be admitted, blaming those of others.

"Immigration is another factor of the utmost importance. We have the Fins in the Finnish forests, but we also have them in the capital, where they took refuge when the political situation drove them out of their own country. In all our more important iron-works you will find a fair number of Walloons; they came over in the seventeenth century and to this day speak their broken French. You all know that we owe the new Swedish constitution to a Walloon. Capable people, these Walloons, and very honest!"

"What in the name of heaven does it all mean?"

"In the reign of King Gustavus Adolphus a whole cargo of Scotch scum landed on our coast and took service in the army; they eventually forced their way into the House of Knights. At the East coast there are many families who cherish traditions of their immigration from Livland and other Slavonic provinces, and so it is not surprising that we frequently meet here pure Tartar types.

"I maintain that the Swedish nation is fast becoming denationalized. Open a book on heraldry and count the Swedish names! If they exceed 25 per cent. you may cut off my nose, gentlemen! Open the directory at random! I counted the letter G, and of four hundred names two hundred were foreign.

"What is the cause of this? There are many causes, but the principal ones are the foreign dynasties and the wars of conquest. If one thinks of all the scum that has sat on the Swedish throne at one time or another, one cannot help marvelling that the nation is so loyal to the king. The constitutional law that the kings of Sweden shall be foreigners is bound to be of the greatest assistance in the work of denationalization; this has been proved to be a fact.

"I am convinced that the country will gain by its alliance with foreign nations; it cannot lose anything—because it has nothing to lose. The country has no nationality; TegnÉr discovered that in 1811, and short-sightedly bemoaned the fact. But his discovery came too late, for the race had already been ruined by the constant recruiting for the foolish wars of conquest. Of the one million men which inhabited the country in the days of Gustavus Adolphus, seventy thousand enlisted and were killed in the wars. I do not know for how many Charles X, Charles XI, and Charles XII were responsible; but it is easy to picture the offspring of those who remained behind, the men whom the crown had rejected as unfit for service.

"I repeat my statement that Sweden has no nationality. Can anybody tell me of anything Swedish in Sweden except her firs, pine trees, and iron-mines? And the latter will soon disappear from the market. What is our folk-lore but bad translations of French, English, and German ballads? What are the national costumes, the disappearance of which we so keenly regret, other than fragments and tatters of the aristocratic mediÆval costumes? In the days of Gustavus I the dalesmen demanded that all those who wore low-cut or many-coloured dresses should be punished. Probably the gay court-dress from Burgundy had not yet filtered down to the daleswomen. But since then the fashion has changed many times.

"Tell me of a Swedish poem, a work of art, a piece of music, so specifically Swedish that it differs from all other not-Swedish ones! Show me a Swedish building! There isn't one, and if there were, it would either be bad architecture or built in a foreign style.

"I don't think I'm exaggerating when I maintain that the Swedish nation is a stupid, conceited, slavish, envious, and uncouth nation. And for this reason it is approaching its end, and approaching it with giant strides."

A tumult arose in the hall, but shouts of Charles XII could be heard above the turmoil.

"Gentlemen, Charles XII is dead; let him sleep until his next jubilee. To no one are we more indebted for our denationalisation than to him, and therefore, gentlemen, I call for three cheers for Charles XII! Gentlemen, long live Charles XII!"

"I call the meeting to order!" shouted the chairman.

"Is it possible to imagine that a nation can be guilty of a greater piece of folly than to go to foreign nations in order to learn to write poetry?

"What unsurpassable oxen they must have been to walk for sixteen hundred years behind the plough and never conceive the idea of inventing a song!

"Then a jolly fellow of the court of Charles XII came along and destroyed the whole work of denationalization. The literary language, which up to now had been German, was henceforth to be Swedish: Down with the dog Stjernhjelm!

"What was his name? Edward StjernstrÖm!"

The chairman's hammer came down on the table with a bang. The disturbance grew. "Stop him! Down with the traitor! He's laughing at us!"

"The Swedish nation can scream and brawl, I am aware of that! They can do nothing else! And as you will not allow me to continue my lecture and discuss the Government and the royal copyholds, I will conclude by saying that the servile louts whom I have heard to-night are ripe for the autocracy which they are sure to get. Believe my words: You will have an absolute monarchy before very long!"

A push from the back jerked the words of the speaker out of his throat. He clung to the table:

"And an ungrateful race who will not listen to the truth...."

"Kick him out! Tear him to pieces!"

Olle was dragged from the platform; but to the last moment, while knocks and blows rained down on him, he yelled like a madman: "Long live Charles XII! Down with George Stjernhjelm!"

At last Olle and Arvid were standing in the street.

"Whatever were you thinking of?" asked Falk. "You must have taken leave of your senses!"

"I believe I had! I had learnt my speech by heart for the last six weeks; I knew to a word what I was going to say; but when I stood on the platform and saw all those eyes gazing at me, it all went to pieces; my artificial arguments broke down like a scaffolding; the floor underneath my feet gave way, and my thoughts became confusion. Was it very crazy?"

"Yes, it was bad, and the papers will pull you to pieces."

"That's a pity, I admit. I thought I was making it all so clear. But it was fun to give it them for once."

"You only injured your cause; they'll never let you speak again."

Olle sighed.

"Why in the name of fortune couldn't you leave Charles XII alone? That was your worst mistake."

"Don't ask me! I don't know!"

"Do you still love the working man?" asked Falk.

"I pity him for allowing himself to be humbugged by adventurers, and I shall never abandon his cause, for his cause is the burning question of the near future, and all your politics aren't worth a penny in comparison."

The two friends were making their way back to old Stockholm, and finally entered a cafÉ.

It was between nine and ten and the room was almost empty. A single customer was sitting near the counter. He was reading from a book to a girl who sat beside him doing needlework. It was a pretty, domestic scene, but it seemed to make a strong impression on Falk, who started violently and changed colour.

"SellÉn! You here? Good evening, Beda!" he said, with artificial cordiality which sat strangely on him, shaking hands with the girl.

"Hallo! Falk, old chap!" said SellÉn. "So you are in the habit of coming here too? I might have guessed it, you are hardly ever at the Red Room now."

Arvid and Beda exchanged glances. The young girl looked too distinguished for her position; she had a delicate, intelligent face, which betrayed a secret sorrow; and a slender figure. Her movements were full of self-confidence and modesty; her eyes were set in her face at a slightly upward angle; they seemed to be peering skyward as if they were anticipating evil to drop down from the clouds; with this exception they looked as if they were ready to play all the games which the whim of the moment might dictate.

"How grave you are," she said to Arvid, and her gaze dropped to her sewing.

"I've been to a grave meeting," said Arvid, blushing like a girl. "What were you reading?"

"I was reading the Dedication from Faust," said SellÉn, stretching out his hand and playing with Beda's needlework.

A cloud darkened Arvid's face. The conversation became forced and restrained. Olle sat plunged in meditations, the subject of which must have been suicide.

Arvid asked for a paper and was given the Incorruptible. He remembered that he had forgotten to look for the review of his poems. He hastily opened the paper and on page three he found what he sought.

His eyes met neither compliments nor abuse; the article was dictated by genuine and deep interest. The reviewer found Arvid's poetry neither better nor worse than the average, but just as selfish and meaningless; he said that it treated only of the poet's private affairs, of illicit relations, real or fictitious; that it coquetted with little sins, but did not mourn over great ones; that it was no better than the English fashion-paper poetry, and he suggested that the author's portrait should have preceded the title-page; then the poems would have been illustrated.

These simple truths made a great impression on Arvid; he had only read the advertisement in the Grey Bonnet, written by Struve, and the review in the Red Cap, coloured by personal friendship. He rose with a brief good-night.

"Are you going already?" asked Beda.

"Yes; are we going to meet to-morrow?"

"Yes, as usual. Good-night."

SellÉn and Olle followed him.

"She's a rare child," said SellÉn, after they had proceeded a little way in silence.

"I should thank you to be a little more restrained in your criticism."

"I see. You're in love with her!"

"Yes. I hope you don't mind."

"Not in the least. I shan't get into your way!"

"And I beg you not to believe any evil of her...."

"Of course I won't! She's been on the stage...."

"How do you know? She never told me that!"

"No, but she told me; one can never trust these little devils too far."

"Oh well! there's no harm in that! I shall take her away from her surroundings as soon as I possibly can. Our relations are limited to meeting in the Haga Park at eight in the morning and drinking the water from the well."

"How sweet and simple! Do you never take her out to supper?"

"I never thought of making such an improper suggestion; she would refuse it with scorn. You are laughing! Laugh if you like! I still have faith in a woman who loves whatever class she may belong to, and whatever her past may have been. She told me that her life had not been above reproach, but I have promised never to ask her about her past."

"Is it serious then?"

"Yes, it is serious."

"That's another thing; Good-night, Falk! Are you coming with me, Olle?"

"Good night."

"Poor Falk!" said SellÉn to Olle. "Now it's his turn to go through the mill. But there's no help for it; it's like changing one's teeth; a man is not grown up until he has had his experience."

"What about the girl?" asked Olle, merely in order to show a polite interest, for his thoughts were elsewhere.

"She's all right in her way, but Falk takes the matter seriously; she does too, apparently, as long as she sees any prospect of winning him; but unless Falk's quick about it, she will grow tired of waiting, and who knows whether she won't amuse herself meanwhile with somebody else? No, you don't understand these things; a man shouldn't hesitate in a love-affair, but grab with both hands; otherwise somebody else will step in and spoil the game. Have you ever been in love, Olle?"

"I had an affair with one of our servants at home; there were consequences, and my father turned me out of the house. Since then I haven't looked at a woman."

"That was nothing very complicated. But to be betrayed, as it is called, that's what hurts, I can tell you! One must have nerves like the strings of a violin to play that game. We shall see what sort of a fight Falk will make; with some men it goes very deep, and that's a pity.

"The door is open, come in Olle! I hope the beds are properly made, so that you will lie softly; but you must excuse my old bed-maker, she cannot shake up the feather-beds; her fingers are weak, don't you see, and the pillow, I'm afraid, may be hard and lumpy."

They had climbed the stairs and were entering the studio.

"It smells damp, as if the servant had aired the room or scrubbed it."

"You are laughing at yourself! There can be no more scrubbing, you have no longer a floor."

"Haven't I? Ah! That makes a difference! But what has become of it? Has it been used for fuel? There's nothing for it then, but to lie down on our mother earth, or rubbish, or whatever it may be."

They lay down in their clothes on the floor-packing, having made a kind of bed for themselves of pieces of canvas and old newspapers, and pushed cases filled with sketches underneath their heads. Olle struck a match, produced a tallow candle from his trousers pocket and put it on the floor beside him. A faint gleam flickered through the huge, bare studio, passionately resisting the volumes of darkness which tried to pour in through the colossal windows.

"It's cold to-night," said Olle, opening a greasy book.

"Cold! Oh no! There are only twenty degrees of frost outside, and thirty in here because we are so high up. What's the time, I wonder?"

"I believe St. John's just struck one."

"St. John's? They have no clock! They are so poor that they had to pawn it."

There was a long pause which was finally broken by SellÉn.

"What are you reading, Olle?"

"Never mind!"

"Never mind? Hadn't you better be more civil, seeing that you are my guest?"

"An old cookery book which I borrowed from Ygberg."

"The deuce you did! Do let's read it; I've only had a cup of coffee and three glasses of water to-day."

"What would you like?" asked Olle, turning over the leaves. "Would you like some fish? Do you know what a mayonnaise is?"

"Mayonnaise? No! Read it! It sounds good!"

"Well, listen! No. 139. Mayonnaise: Take some butter, flour, and a pinch of English mustard, and make it into a smooth paste. Beat it up with good stock, and when boiling add the yolks of a few eggs; beat well and let it stand to cool."

"No, thank you; that's not filling enough...."

"Oh, but that's not all. Then take a few spoonfuls of fine salad oil, vinegar, a spoonful of cream, some white pepper—oh, yes, I see now, it's no good. Do you want something more substantial?"

"Try and find toad-in-the-hole. It's my favourite dish."

"I can't go on reading."

"Do!"

"No, leave me alone!"

They were silent. The candle went out and it was quite dark.

"Good-night, Olle; wrap yourself well up, or you'll be cold."

"What with?"

"I don't know. Aren't we having a jolly time?"

"I wonder why one doesn't kill oneself when one is so cold."

"Because it would be wrong. I find it quite interesting to live, if only to see what will come of it all in the end."

"Are your parents alive, SellÉn?"

"No; I'm illegitimate. Yours?"

"Yes; but it comes to the same thing."

"You should be more grateful to Providence, Olle; one should always be grateful to Providence—I don't quite know why. But I suppose one should."

Again there was silence. The next time it was Olle who broke it.

"Are you asleep?"

"No; I'm thinking of the statue of Gustavus Adolphus; would you believe me when I...."

"Aren't you cold?"

"Cold? It's quite warm here."

"My right foot is frozen."

"Pull the paint box over you, and tuck the brushes round your sides, then you'll be warmer."

"Do you think anybody in the world is as badly off as we are?"

"Badly off? Do you call us badly off when we have a roof over our heads? Some of the professors at the Academy, men who wear three-cornered hats and swords now, were much worse off than we are. Professor LundstrÖm slept during nearly the whole of April in the theatre in the Hop garden. There was style in that! He had the whole of the left stage-box, and he maintains that after one o'clock there wasn't a single stall vacant; there was always a good house in the winter and a bad one in the summer. Good night, I'm going to sleep now."

SellÉn snored. But Olle rose and paced the room, up and down, until the dawn broke in the east; then day took pity on him and gave him the peace which night had denied him.