When Paulsberg at last showed up they made room for him with alacrity; the Journalist sat close by him and wanted to hear his opinion concerning the situation. What did these events portend--what could be done now? Paulsberg, reserved and taciturn as always, gave a half reply, a fragmentary opinion: What could be done? Oh, one had to try to live even if a couple of parliamentarians were to fail the cause. All the same, he was going to publish an article soon; it would be worth while observing what effect that would have. He was going to give it to the traitors good and proper. Goodness! Was he going to publish an article? That certainly would put matters right. "Not too gentle, now, Paulsberg; don't show them any consideration." "I imagine Paulsberg knows exactly how gentle he is going to be," said Milde reprovingly. "You can safely leave that to him." "Of course," answered the Journalist, "that goes without saying. I had no idea of offering any suggestions." He was a little offended, but Paulsberg smoothed matters over by saying: "I thank you for the two notices, Gregersen. It is fortunate for us that you keep an eye on us; otherwise people would entirely forget that we writers existed." The Attorney ordered another round. "I am waiting for my wife," said Paulsberg. "She stopped in to borrow a hundred from Ole Henriksen. I see there is talk about famine in Russia--Well, I can't say that I have starved as yet." Milde turned to Coldevin and remarked pompously: "That is something it wouldn't hurt you to know out in the country: so shabbily does Norway treat her great men!" Coldevin glanced from one to another. "Indeed," he said, "it is sad." A moment later he added: "Well, one cannot say things are much better out in the country. The struggle to live is bitter there, too." "But, so help me, there is a difference between poets and peasants, I should think!" "In the country people adjust themselves to the law that the weak must perish," said Coldevin quietly. "For instance, people who cannot support a wife do not marry. If they do, and if they later on have to rely on others to discharge their obligations, then they are disgraced, branded with shame." Everybody looked at the bald fellow; even Paulsberg snatched his glasses that were hanging on a cord across his breast, looked at him a moment, and asked in a stage whisper: "What in the world--what kind of a phenomenon is that?" This happy word made the friends smile; Paulsberg was asking what kind of a phenomenon this was, a phenomenon--he, he! It was not often Paulsberg said that much. Coldevin looked unconcerned; he did not smile. A pause ensued. Paulsberg looked out of the window, shivered a little, and murmured: