What did he mean? But when the witty dog
reached the declaration that he could only thrive in a high spiritual
altitude, then the guests broke into peals of merriment and understood
that it was a capital hoax. The merry blade--hadn't he almost fooled them
all! "Poor remnants of the intellectual life of the seventies!" Didn't we
have Paulsberg and Irgens, and Ojen and Milde, and the two close-cropped
poets, and an entire army of first-class, sprouting talents besides!
The Journalist himself laughed and wiped his forehead and laughed again.
It was generally believed that this fellow was possessed of a literary
talent which had not entirely stagnated in his newspaper. A book might be
expected from him some day, a remarkable work.
Paulsberg forced a smile. In reality he was offended because nobody had
alluded to his novels or to his work on the Atonement during the entire
evening. When therefore the Journalist asked him his opinion concerning
the intellectual life of the nation, his reply was brief:
"It seems to me I have had occasion to express an opinion somewhere in my
works."
Of course, of course; when they came to think of it they certainly
remembered it.
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