nods.

On their way back through the store he pulls out a drawer from the
counter, and Irgens, who understands the hint, takes something from the
drawer which he puts in his mouth. It is coffee, roasted coffee; good for
the breath.




II


At two o'clock people swarm up and down the promenade. They chat and laugh
in all manner of voices, greet each other, smile, nod, turn around, shout.
Cigar smoke and ladies' veils flutter in the air; a kaleidoscopic
confusion of light gloves and handkerchiefs, of bobbing hats and swinging
canes, glides down the street along which carriages drive with ladies and
gentlemen in stylish attire.

Several young gentlemen have taken their accustomed stand at "The Corner."
They form a circle of acquaintances--a couple of artists, a couple of
authors, a business man, an undefinable--comrades all. They are dressed
variously: some have already dispensed with their overcoats, others wear
long ulsters with turned-up collars as in midwinter. Everybody knows "the
clique."

Some join it while others depart; there remain a young, corpulent artist
by the name of Milde, and an actor with a snub nose and a creamy voice;
also Irgens, and Attorney Grande of the prominent Grande family. The most