The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun

it will never do for you to go and starve yourself to death," he exclaims, feeling in his pocket.

      This causes a feeling of shame to awake in me, and I stagger over to the wall and hold on to it. I see him finger in his purse, and he hands me half-a-sovereign.

      He makes no fuss about it, simply gives me half-a-sovereign, reiterating at the same time that it would never do to let me starve to death. I stammered an objection and did not take it all at once. It is shameful of me to ... it was really too much....

      "Hurry up," he says, looking at his watch. "I have been waiting for the train; I hear it coming now."

      I took the money; I was dumb with joy, and never said a word; I didn't even thank him once.

      "It isn't worth while feeling put out about it," said the "Commandor" at last. "I know you can write for it."

      And so off he went.

      When he had gone a few steps, I remembered all at once that I had not thanked him for this great assistance. I tried to overtake him, but could not get on quickly enough; my legs failed me, and I came near tumbling on my face. He went farther and farther away from me. I gave up the attempt; thought of calling after him, but dared not; and when after all I did muster up courage enough and called once or twice, he was already at too great a distance, and my voice had become too weak.

      I was left standing on the pavement, gazing after him. I wept quietly and silently. "I never saw the like!" I said to myself. "He gave me half-a- sovereign." I walked back and placed myself where he had stood, imitated all his movements held the half-sovereign up to my moistened eyes, inspected it on both sides, and began to swear--to swear at the top of my voice, that there was no manner of doubt that what I held in my hand was half-a-sovereign. An hour after, maybe--a very long hour, for it had grown very silent all around me--I stood, singularly enough, outside No. 11 Tomtegaden. After I had stood and collected my wits for a moment and wondered thereat, I went through the door for the second time, right into the "Entertainment and lodgings for travellers." Here I asked for shelter and was immediately supplied with a bed.

      * * * * *

      Tuesday.

      Sunshine and quiet--a strangely bright day. The snow had disappeared. There was life and joy, and glad faces, smiles, and laughter everywhere. The fountains threw up sprays of water in jets, golden-tinted from the sun-light, azure from the sky....

      At noon I left my lodgings in Tomtegaden, where I still lived and found fairly comfortable, and set out for town. I was in the merriest humour, and lazied about the whole afternoon through the most frequented streets and looked at the people. Even before seven o'clock I took a turn up St. Olav's Place and took a furtive look up at the window of No. 2. In an hour I would see her. I went about the whole time in a state of tremulous, delicious dread. What would happen? What should I say when she came down the stairs? Good-evening? or only smile? I concluded to let it rest with the smile. Of course I would bow profoundly to her.

      I stole away, a little ashamed to be there so early, wandered up Carl Johann for a while, and kept my eyes on University Street. When the clocks struck eight I walked once more towards St. Olav's Place. On the way it struck me that perhaps I might arrive a few minutes too late, and I quickened my pace as much as I could. My foot was very sore, otherwise nothing ailed me.

      I took up my place at the fountain and drew breath. I stood there a long while and gazed up at the window of No. 2, but she did not come. Well, I would wait; I was in no hurry. She might be delayed, and I waited on. It couldn't well be that I had dreamt the whole thing! Had my first meeting with her only existed in imagination the night I lay in delirium? I began in perplexity to think over it, and wasn't at all sure.

      "Hem!" came from behind me. I heard this, and I also heard light steps near me, but I did not turn round, I only stared up at the wide staircase before me.

      "Good-evening," came then. I forget to smile; I don't even take off my hat at first, I am so taken aback to see her come this way.

      "Have you been waiting long?" she asks. She is breathing a little quickly after her walk.

      "No, not at all; I only came a little while ago," I reply. "And besides, would it matter if I had waited long? I expected, by-the-way, that you would come from another direction."

      "I accompanied mamma to some people. Mamma is spending the evening with them."

      "Oh, indeed," I say.

      We had begun to walk on involuntarily. A policeman is standing at the corner, looking at us.

      "But, after all, where are we going to?" she asks, and stops.

      "Wherever you wish; only where you wish."

      "Ugh, yes! but it's such a bore to have to decide oneself."

      A pause.

      Then I say, merely for the sake of saying something:

      "I see it's dark up in your windows."

      "Yes, it is," she replies gaily; "the servant has an evening off, too, so I am all alone at home."

      We both stand and look up at the windows of No. 2 as if neither of us had seen them before.

      "Can't we go up to your place, then?" I say; "I shall sit down at the door the whole time if you like."

      But then I trembled with emotion, and regretted greatly that I had perhaps been too forward. Supposing she were to get angry, and leave me. Suppose I were never to see her again. Ah, that miserable attire of mine! I waited despairingly for her reply.

      "You shall certainly not sit down by the door," she says. She says it right down tenderly, and says accurately these words: "You shall certainly not sit down by the door."

      We went up.

      Out on the lobby, where it was dark, she took hold of my hand, and led me on. There was no necessity for my being so quiet, she said, I could very well talk. We entered. Whilst she lit the candle--it was not a lamp she lit, but a candle--whilst she lit the candle, she said, with a little laugh:

      "But now you mustn't look at me. Ugh! I am so ashamed, but I will never do it again."

      "What will you never do again?"

      "I will never ... ugh ... no ... good gracious ... I will never kiss you again!"

      "Won't you?" I said, and we both laughed. I stretched out my arms to her, and she glided away; slipped round to the other side of the table. We stood a while and gazed at one another; the candle stood right between us.

      "Try and catch me," she said; and with much laughter I tried to seize hold of her. Whilst she sprang about, she loosened her veil, and took off her hat; her sparkling eyes hung on mine, and watched my movements. I made a fresh sortie, and tripped on the carpet and fell, my sore foot refusing to bear me up any longer. I rose in extreme confusion.

      "Lord, how red you did get!" she said. "Well it was awfully awkward of you."

      "Yes, it was," I agreed, and we began the chase afresh.

      "It seems to me you limp."

      "Yes; perhaps I do--just a little--only just a little, for that matter."

      "Last time you had a sore finger, now you have got a sore foot; it is awful the number of afflictions you have."

      "Ah, yes. I was run over slightly, a few days ago."

      "Run over! Tipsy again? Why, good heavens! what a life you lead, young man!" and she threatened me with her forefinger, and tried to appear grave. "Well, let us sit down, then; no, not down there by the door; you are far too reserved! Come here--you there, and I here--so, that's it ... ugh, it's such a bore with reticent people! One has to say and do everything oneself; one gets no help to do anything. Now, for example, you might just as well put your arm over the back of my chair; you could easily have thought of that much out of your own head, couldn't you? But if I say anything like that, you open your eyes as wide as if you couldn't believe what was being said. Yes, it is really true; I have noticed it several times; you are doing it now, too; but you needn't