On the return trip Irgens seemed a different person. He chatted,
entertained the ladies, helped even poor Ojen, who suffered greatly. Milde
had captured a bottle on the pretext that it was drink time again, and
Irgens drank with him simply to be accommodating. Mrs. Hanka's spirits
also rose; she was lively and cheerful, and a strange association of ideas
made her suddenly decide to ask her husband for a couple of hundred crowns
this very evening.
Tidemand was at the tiller and could not be dislodged; he sailed the boat
and did not utter a syllable. He looked well as he stood high in the
stern, rising and falling against the blue background of sea and sky. His
wife called to him once and asked him if he were cold, an attention he
could hardly believe and therefore pretended not to hear.
"He is deaf," she said smilingly. "Are you cold Andreas?"
"Cold? Not at all," he called back.
And by and by the party reached the jetty.
Hardly had Ojen stepped ashore before he called a cab. He was in a hurry
to get home and find his manuscript or learn the worst. He could not rest
until he knew his fate. But perhaps he would meet the company later on.
Would they be at Sara's?
They looked at each other uncertainly and did not know what to say. But
Ole Henriksen declared that he was going home; he was thinking of
Tidemand, who was in need of rest and quiet. They parted outside
Tidemand's house.
Mrs. Hanka asked abruptly, before even the door was opened:
"Will you please let me have a hundred or so?"
"A hundred? Hm. Certainly. But you will have to come with me to the
office; I haven't got the money here."
In the office he handed her the bill; his hand was trembling violently.
"Here is the money," he said.
"Thanks--Why are you trembling?" she asked.
"Oh--I suppose because I have held the tiller so long--Hm. Listen, Hanka,
I have a pleasant surprise for you! You have asked me a number of times to
consent to a divorce; I have decided in God's name to do what you ask--You
understand, I am not going to oppose you any more."
She could hardly believe her ears. Did he agree to a divorce? She gazed at
him; he was deathly pale, his eyes were lowered. They were standing
opposite each other, the large desk between them.
He continued:
"Circumstances are different now--My big speculation has failed; even if
I am not a bankrupt this moment, I am a poor man. I may avoid closing up
shop, but that will be all. Anyway, I shall not be able to keep up this
mode of life. And, this being so, I feel that I have no right to interfere
with your plans and desires any longer."
His words reached her as from afar. For a moment she felt a vague
sensation of happiness--she was free; she would escape the yoke that had
become oppressive; she would be a girl once more! Hanka Lange--imagine,
only Hanka Lange! And when she realised that her husband was almost a
bankrupt it did not greatly upset her; he had said he might not be forced
to shut down. Of course, he was not wealthy, but neither was he a beggar;
it might have been a great deal worse.
"Is that so?" she said simply; "is that so?"
Pause. Tidemand had regained his composure; he stood again as he had stood
aboard the yacht; one could almost see the tiller in his hand. His eyes
were on her. She had not said no; her intentions were evidently not
shaken. Well, he had hardly expected that they would be.
He said:
"Well, that was all I wanted to tell you."
His voice was remarkably even, almost commanding; she thought: "He has not
spoken to me like that in three years." His strength was marvellous to
behold.
"Well, do you really want to?" she asked. "You think, then, that we ought
to separate? Of course, but--I hope you have thought it over--that you are
not doing this simply to please me?"
"It goes without saying that I do it to please you," he answered. "You
have requested it often enough, and I sincerely regret that I have opposed
you until now." And he added without a trace of malice: "You must forgive
me for having interfered with your wishes so long."
She grew attentive at once.
"I don't know what you mean," she said a trifle haughtily.
He did not care about that and did not answer. Hadn't she spoken about a
divorce time and time again? Hadn't he put her off? Perfectly composed, he
opened his coat and took out his pocket calendar, in which he proceeded to
make an entry.
She could not help being impressed by this quiet superiority, which she
never before had noticed in him; she happened to say:
"I think you have changed greatly."
"Oh, well, one gets a little grey, but--"
"No, you misunderstand me!" she interrupted.
Tidemand said slowly and looked straight into her eyes:
"I wish to God you had understood me as well as I have you, Hanka!
Perhaps, then, this would not have become necessary." He buttoned his coat
as if preparing to leave, and added: "Now, in regard to the money--"
"Yes, dear, here is the money!" she said, and wanted to give him back the
bill.
For the first time since their interview he tossed his head impatiently
and said:
"I am not talking about _that_ money now! Kindly make at least an
effort to understand me--Whatever money you need shall be sent you as
soon as you inform me where to send it."
"But, dear me," she said in confusion, "do I have to go away? I thought I
could stay in the city. What do you want me to do?"
"Whatever is agreeable to you. You will let the children remain here,
won't you? I shall take good care of them; you need not worry about that.
As for yourself, I suppose you will want to take an apartment somewhere.
You know it takes three years, don't you?"
She was standing with the bill in her hand, gazing at it abstractedly. She
was unable to think clearly; her mind was whirling; but deep down she had
a vague feeling of relief--she was free at last! She said nothing; he felt
his self-control give way and wanted to get it over with quickly so as not
to break down.
"Good-bye, then--" He could say no more, but offered her his hand; she
took it. "I hope we shall see each other occasionally; but I want to thank
you now for everything; this may be the last chance I shall have--I shall
send you the money every month." And he put on his hat and went to the
door.
She followed him with her eyes. Was this Andreas?
"Well, I suppose you want to go," she said, bewildered, "and I am standing
here delaying you. I suppose we shall have to do as you say--I don't know
what I am saying--" Her voice broke suddenly.
Tidemand opened the door with trembling hands and let her out. At the foot
of the stairs she stopped and let him walk ahead. When he reached the
landing he waited for her; then he opened the door with his key and held
it for her. When she was inside he said:
"Good night, then!"
And again Tidemand walked down-stairs, down to his office, where he shut
himself in. He went over to the window and stood there, his hands clasped
behind him, staring out into the street with unseeing eyes. No, she had
not changed her mind in the least, that was not to be expected. She had
not hesitated. There she had stood, with her elbow on the desk; she had
heard what he said and she had replied; "Well, I suppose we shall have to
do as you say." There had been no hesitation, no, none at all.... But she
had not exulted, either; she had spared him from witnessing any outburst
of joy. She had been considerate--he had to admit that. Oh, Hanka was
always considerate; God bless her wherever she went! She had stood there.
Hanka, Hanka!... But probably she was rejoicing now; why shouldn't she
be? She had had her way.... And the children were asleep now, both Ida and
Johanna. Poor little things; they did not even reach up to their pillows!
Well, they would be provided for. One might be getting a little grey, but
there was still a fight or two left....
And Tidemand went back to his desk. He worked over his books and papers
until daylight.