So here I am once more in the crush and noise of a city, with its newspapers and people. I have been away from all this for many months now, and find it not unpleasant. I spend a morning taking it all in; get hold of some other clothes, and set off to find Fr?ken¹ Elisabeth at her address. She was staying with some relatives.

And now — should I be lucky enough to meet the other one? I am restless as a boy. My hands are vulgarly unused to gloves, and I pull them off; then going up the step I notice that my hands do not go at all well with the clothes I am wearing, and I put on my gloves again. Then I ring the bell.

“Fr?ken Elisabeth? Yes, would you wait a moment?”

Fr?ken Elisabeth comes out. “Goddag. You wished to speak to. . . . Oh, is it you?”

I had brought a parcel from her mother. V?rsaagod.

She tears open the parcel and looks inside. “Oh, fancy Mama thinking of that. The opera-glasses! We’ve been to the theatre already. . . . I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Really! It’s not so very long since. . . . ”

“No, but. . . . Tell me, isn’t there any one else you’d like to inquire about? Haha!”

“Yes,” said I.

“Well, she’s not here. I’m only staying here with my relations. No, she’s at the Victoria.”

“Well, the parcel was for you,” said I, trying to master my disappointment.

“Wait a minute. I was just going out again; we can go together.”

Fr?ken Elisabeth puts on some over-things, calls out through a door to say she won’t be very long, and goes out with me. We take a cab and drive to a quiet café. Fr?ken Elisabeth says yes, she loves going to cafés. But there’s nothing very amusing about this one.

Would she rather go somewhere else?

“Yes. To the Grand.”

I hesitated; it might be hardly safe. I had been away for a long time now, and if we met any one I knew I might have to talk to them. But Fr?kenen insisted on Grand. She had had but a few days’ practice in the capital, and had already gained a deal of self-assurance. But I liked her so much before.

We drove off again to Grand. It was getting towards evening. Fr?kenen picks out a seat right in the brightest spot, beaming all over herself at the fun of it. I ordered some wine.

“What fine clothes you’re wearing now,” she says, with a laugh.

“I couldn’t very well come in here in a workman’s blouse.”

“No, of course not. But, honestly, that blouse . . . shall I tell you what I think?”

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