“All those who are afraid of justice I call legitimately lower-class, and they should be fought without mercy. If they have any power with the poor and weak, they frighten and tyrannize them till they too become the same. If they are poor and weak themselves, they give up the struggle, and make their way by begging and flattering—or plundering if they have an opportunity. “No, the ideal is a community governed by upper-class individuals, for they never fight for themselves; they know their own endless resources, and they give with open hands to those who are poorer. They endeavour to bring light and air to every possibility for good and beauty in the inferior souls—those who are neither this nor that; good when they can afford it, bad when the proletariat forces them to be so. The power should be in the hands of those who feel the responsibility for every good impulse that is killed.” “You are wrong about Hans Hermann,” said Cesca quietly. “It was not for his own sake alone that he rebelled against social injustice. He, too, spoke of the good impulses that were wasted. When we walked about in the east end and saw the pale little children, he said he would like to set fire to the ugly, sad, crowded barracks where they lived.” “Mere talk. If the rent had been paid to him....” “For shame, Gunnar!” said Cesca impetuously. “All the same he would not have been a socialist if he had been born rich—but still a true proletarian.” “Are you sure you would have been a socialist yourself,” said Cesca, “if you had been born a count, for instance?” “Mr. Heggen _is_ a count,” said Hjerrild, laughing, “of many airy castles.” Heggen sat silent for a minute. “I have never felt I was born poor,” he said, speaking as if to himself. “As to Hermann’s love for children,” said Hjerrild, “there was not much of it for his own child. And the way he treated his wife was disgraceful. He begged and pleaded till he got her, but when she was going to have the baby, she had to beg and implore him to marry her.” “Have they got a little boy?” whispered Francesca. “Yes; he arrived after they had been married six weeks, just the day I left Berlin. When they had been married a month Hermann left her and went to Dresden. I don’t see why they did not marry before, as they had agreed to divorce anyhow. She wanted it.” “How disgraceful,” said Jenny, who had been listening to the conversation. “To marry with the intention to divorce!” “Well,” said Hjerrild, smiling. “When people know each other in and out, and know they cannot get on, what else is there to do?” “Not marry at all, of course.” “Naturally. Free love is much better, but she had to marry. She is going to give concerts in Christiania in the autumn and try to get pupils. She could not do it, having the child, unless she had been married.”