"Yes," said Ojen, "one does not altogether forget the teachings of childhood days." Coldevin stood there and looked after him. _He_ was only waiting for the processions to start. His coat was beginning to be rather shiny; it was carefully brushed, but shabby; in the left lapel was fastened securely a little silk bow in the Norwegian colours. He shivered, for the air was still chilly; he walked rapidly in order to get down to the harbour whence sounded the energetic rattle of anchor chains. He nodded and glanced at the waving flags, counted them, and followed their graceful billowing against the blue sky. Here and there a few pale theatre bills were posted on pillars; he went from one to another and read great and famous names--masterpieces from earlier periods. He happened to think of Irgens's lyric drama, but he looked for it in vain. And he turned his face toward the sea; the rattle of chains reached his ears refreshingly. The ships were dressed in bunting; the entire harbour scintillated with these bright colours against the blue. Coldevin breathed deeply and stood still. The odour of coal and tar, of wine and fruit, of fish and oils; the roar from engines and traffic, the shouts, the footfalls on the decks, the song from a young sailor who was shining shoes in his shirtsleeves--it all stirred him with a violent joy which almost made his eyes moisten. What a power was here! What ships! The harbour gleamed; far away he saw Miss Aagot's little yacht with the shining masthead. He lost himself in this spectacle. Time passed; suddenly he dived into a basement restaurant that had opened up and asked for a sandwich for breakfast. When he emerged a little later there were many people in the streets; it was getting along toward the time for the boys' parade to start. He had to hurry; it would never do to miss the processions. * * * * * Along toward three o'clock a few members of the clique had occupied a vantage-point at the corner, in order to see the big procession pass by toward the Royal Castle. None of them marched in the parade. Suddenly one of them called out: "Look, there is Coldevin!" They saw him march now under one, now under another banner; it was as if he wanted to belong to them all; he was almost too enthusiastic to keep in step. Attorney Grande crossed over and joined the procession; he caught up with Coldevin and started a conversation. "And where is the young Norway?" asked Coldevin, "the poets, the artists-- why aren't they marching? They ought to; it would not hurt their talent. It might not help it much, either; I don't say that, but I am sure it would never hurt. The trouble is, they don't care! They are indifferent; but it is surely wrong to be so indifferent."