Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [109]
He did, in fact, bring himself so far as to imagine this happy impossibility. No, no, she had probably just been looking for her coat, the whole thing was a coincidence; how could he harbor such hopeless fancies! ... A little later, however, seeing Dagny make her way through the hall, he at once went out and searched his coat pockets, his heart pounding. There was no letter, nothing at all, only his own gloves and a handkerchief.
There was a crashing applause in the hall, the opening speech by the justice of the peace was over. And now the crowd streamed into the hallways and the adjoining rooms, looking all around for cool places, where they settled down along the walls to enjoy refreshments. Dressed like waitresses, in white aprons and with napkins on their arms, several of the town’s young ladies rushed about with trays and glasses in their hands.
Nagel was looking for Dagny; she was nowhere to be seen. He said hello to Miss Andresen, who was also in a white apron; he asked for wine but she brought him champagne.
He looked at her in surprise. “You never drink anything else,” she said, smiling.
While rather malicious, this compliment nevertheless made him livelier than he had been so far. He asked her to have a drink with him, and she sat down then and there, though she was very busy. He thanked her for her courtesy, complimented her on her costume, and was delighted by an old filigree brooch she was wearing on her neck band. She made a good appearance: her long aristocratic face with its rather large nose was extremely fine, almost morbidly fine, and it never changed; there were no nervous tics. She spoke with quiet composure, her presence conveyed a sense of security; she was a lady, the epitome of woman.
When she got up he said, “There’s supposed to be someone here this evening to whom I would be glad to show a little attention, Miss Gude, Martha Gude; I don’t know whether you’re acquainted with her. I was told she had gone into this room. I can’t tell you how glad I would be to do something nice for her; she’s so lonely. Miniman has told me about her. Don’t you think, Miss Andresen, that I could ask her to join us? Provided you don’t mind having her here, of course?”
“No, not at all!” Miss Andresen replies. “I’ll be delighted to find her right away. I know where she’s sitting.”
“You will come back, too, won’t you?”
“Yes, thank you.”
While Nagel is waiting, Mr. Reinert, the teacher, and Dagny come in. Nagel rises and bows to them. Dagny was pale, like himself, despite the heat; she was wearing a yellowish dress with short sleeves, and a gold chain around her neck that was far too heavy. The chain was most unbecoming. She paused by the door for a moment, holding one hand behind her back and picking at her braid.
Nagel walked up to her. In a few passionate words he begged her to forgive him for having offended her so cruelly last Friday; it would be the last time, the very last, she would never again have reason to forgive him anything. He spoke in a low voice, said what had to be said and stopped.
She listened to what he was saying, even looked at him, and when he finished she said, “I hardly know what you’re talking about, I’ve forgotten it—I want to forget it.”
With that she left. She had looked at him with great indifference.
People were buzzing everywhere; there was a clattering of cups and glasses, the popping of corks, laughter and cries, and from the hall came the strains of the town brass band, which was playing very poorly....
When Miss Andresen and Martha appeared, they had Miniman in tow; they all sat down at Nagel’s table, where they remained for a quarter of an hour. Miss Andresen occasionally went around with a tray to serve people who called for coffee; finally she disappeared altogether, having too much to do.
Now there followed the various items on the program: a quartet sang, Øien recited his own poem in a strong voice, two women played the piano, and the organist gave his first violin solo. Dagny was still sitting with the two