"I cannot see that this is something Paulsberg can decide," he said.
They looked at him in surprise. Was that so? So Paulsberg could not decide
that? He! he! so that was beyond him? But who, then, could decide it?
"Irgens," answered Paulsberg caustically.
Irgens looked at him; they gazed fixedly at each other. Mrs. Hanka stepped
between them, sat down on a chair, and began to speak to Ojen.
"Listen a moment!" she called after a while. "Ojen wants to read his
latest--a prose poem."
And they settled down to listen.
Ojen brought forth his prose poem from an inside pocket; his hands
trembled.
"I must ask your indulgence," said he.
But at this the two young students, the close-cropped poets, laughed
loudly, and the one with the compass in his fob said admiringly:
"And _you_ ask for _our_ indulgence? What about us, then?"
"Quiet!"
"The title of this is 'Sentenced to Death,'" said Ojen, and began:
For a long time I have wondered: What if my secret guilt were
known?...
Sh....
Yes, sh....
For then I should be sentenced to death.
And I would sit in my prison and know that I should be calm and
indifferent when the supreme moment should arrive.
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