She nodded to Coldevin and wished the poets
all they got. Coldevin was grateful for her smile; she was the only one
who smiled at him, and he did not mind the violent interruptions, the
shouts and rude questions: What kind of a phenomenon was he who could
assume this superior pose? What world-subduing exploits had he performed?
He should not remain incognito any longer; what was his real name? They
wanted to acclaim him!
Irgens was least affected of them all; he twirled his moustache and looked
at his watch to make everybody understand how this bored him. Glancing at
Coldevin, he whispered to Mrs. Hanka with an expression of disgust:
"It seems to me that this man is a little too untidy. Look at his collar,
or bib, or whatever one may call it. I noticed that he put his
cigar-holder in his vest-pocket a moment ago without first putting it in a
case. Who knows, there might be an old comb in the same pocket."
But with his air of undisturbed serenity, with his eyes fixed on a point
in the table, quietly indifferent, Coldevin listened to the exclamations
from the gentlemen of the party. The Journalist asked him pointblank if he
were not ashamed of himself.
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