She leaned back against the cushions, and smiled through half-closed lids. The engine whistled; I looked out; we were approaching the black opening. I remembered that I had promised to speak to her; I bent towards her, and in the darkness I felt her arms around my neck. "Speak to me, please do! I am so frightened!" she whispered with beating heart. "Why don't you speak to me?" I felt plainly how her heart was beating, and I placed my lips close to her ears and whispered: "But now you are forgetting your friend!" She heard me, she trembled and let me go quickly; she pushed me away with both hands, and threw herself down in the seat. I sat there alone. I heard her sobs through the darkness. "This was The Power of Love," Ojen said. Everybody listened attentively; Milde sat with open mouth. "Well--what more?" he asked, evidently thinking there must be a climax yet to come. "Is that all? But Heaven preserve us, man, what is it all about? No; the so-called poetry you young writers are dishing out nowadays--I call it arrant rot!" They all laughed loudly. The effect was spoiled; the poet with the compass in his fob arose, pointed straight at Milde, and said furiously: "This gentleman evidently lacks all understanding of modern poetry." "Modern poetry! This sniffing at the moon and the sun, these filigree phrases and unintelligible fancies--There must, at least, be a point, a climax, to everything!" Ojen was pale and furious. "You have then not the slightest understanding of my new intentions," said the poor fellow, trembling with excitement. "But, then, you are a brute, Milde; one could not expect intelligent appreciation from you." Only now did the fat painter realise how much he had offended; he had hardly expected this when he spoke. "A brute?" he answered good-naturedly. "It seems we are beginning to express ourselves very plainly. I did not mean to insult you, anyway. Don't you think I enjoyed the poem? I did, I tell you; enjoyed it immensely. I only thought it a little disembodied, so to speak, somewhat ethereal. Understand me correctly: it is very beautiful, exceedingly artistic, one of the best things you have produced yet. Can't you take a joke any more?" But it was of no avail that Milde tried to smooth things over; the seriousness of the moment had gone, they laughed and shouted more than ever, and cut loose in earnest. Norem opened one of the windows and sang to the street below. To mend matters a little and make Ojen feel better, Mrs. Hanka placed her hand on his shoulder and promised to come and see him off when he started on his trip. Not she alone--they would all come. When was he going? She turned to Ole Henriksen: "You'll come, won't you, and see Ojen off when he goes?"