Besides these, one noticed a man from the _Gazette_, Journalist Gregersen, the literary member of the staff. He was a man who did his friends many a favour and published in his paper many an item concerning them. Paulsberg showed him the greatest deference, and conversed with him about his series, "New Literature," which he found admirable; and the Journalist was happy and proud because of this approbation. He had a peculiar habit of twisting words so that they sounded odd and absurd, and nobody could turn this trick as smartly as he. "It is rather difficult to write such a series within reasonable limits," he says. "There are so many authors that have to be included--a veritable choas!" He makes Paulsberg smile over this "choas," and they talk on in the best of harmony. Attorney Grande and his wife were absent. "So the Attorney is not coming," says Mrs. Hanka Tidemand, without referring to his wife. Mrs. Liberia never came, anyway. "He sulks," said Milde, and drank with Norem, the Actor. "He did not want to come because Norem was invited." Nobody felt the least constraint; they chatted about everything, drank, and made plenty of noise. It was a splendid place, Milde's studio; as soon as one got inside the door one felt free to do or say anything one's inclination prompted. Mrs. Hanka is seated on the sofa; Ojen sits beside her. On the other side of the table sits Irgens; the light falls across his narrow chest. Mrs. Hanka hardly glances at him. She is in her red velvet gown; her eyes have a greenish sheen. Her upper lip is slightly raised. One glimpses her teeth and marvels at their whiteness. The face is fresh and the complexion clear. Her beautiful forehead is not hidden beneath her hair; she carries it sweetly and candidly, like a nun. A couple of rings flash on her fingers. She breathes deeply and says to Irgens, across the table: "How hot it is here, Irgens!" Irgens gets up and goes over to open a window, but a voice is raised in protest; it is Mrs. Paulsberg's. "For Heaven's sake, no open windows. Come away from the sofa; it is cooler further back!" And Mrs. Hanka gets up. Her movements are undulating. When she stands up she is like a young girl, with bold shoulders. She does not glance into the large, cracked mirror as she passes; she exhales no odours of perfumes; she takes, accidentally, her husband's arm and walks up and down with him while the conversation and the refreshments keep the other guests at the table. Tidemand is talking, with somewhat forced liveliness, about a cargo of grain, a certain Fürst in Riga, a raise in customs duties somewhere. Suddenly he says, bending toward her: "Yes; I am very happy to-day. But, pardon me, you are hardly interested in these things--Did you see Ida before you left? Wasn't she sweet in her white dress? We'll get her a carriage when spring comes!"