The company wanders toward the university. The conversation is about
literature and politics, and, although nobody contradicts them, they are
loud and eager: Was Norway a sovereign state or not? Was Norway perhaps
not entitled to the rights and privileges of a sovereign state? Just wait
a moment, the Speaker had promised to attend to things; besides, there
were the elections.... All were agreed, the elections would decide.
Three of the gentlemen part from the group when the university is reached;
the remaining two take another turn down the street, stop outside the
Grand, and exchange opinions. It is Milde and Ojen. Milde is highly
indignant.
"I repeat: If Parliament yields this time, it is me for Australia. In that
case it will be unbearable here."
Ojen is young and nervous; his little, round, girlish face is pale and
void of expression; he squints as if he were near-sighted, although his
eyes are good, and his voice is soft and babyish.
"I am unable to understand that all this can interest you so greatly. It
is all one to me." And Ojen shrugs his shoulders; he is tired of politics.
His shoulders slope effeminately.
"Oh well, I won't detain you," says Milde.
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