Nora lay on the bed in Tinka Hansen's room; a little wainscoted, blue-painted attic in shoemaker Hansen's new house in the market-place.
As well as the bed there was an open bookshelf painted brown, one or two chairs, a large washstand intended for two, but for which no other place could be found; a high short sofa on which Tinka now sat, looking across at the bed, her right arm resting on her little desk which stood on the table before her.
Nora lay sobbing loudly, and Tinka sat calmly by and looked at her; Nora knew now what faithlessness was, how it tasted to be deserted for the sake of another.
But it was more than being forsaken--she was abandoned, deposed, made nothing of. Tora had lifted her up to the skies; she was "all mind,"
"could not make a mistake." And now this very Tora had dropped her--for Milla Engel! The world was nothing but lies and delusions. "Oh dear!
Tinka, why cannot you be kind to me? You do not know how unhappy I am."
But Tinka was silent. "I cannot do without you, Tinka--no, I cannot. I have discovered since this morning that I made nothing but mistakes. I have no stability--no, not a bit."
"No, that is it," said Tinka soothingly.
"Not a bit; oh dear, what shall I do? Won't you talk to me?" She cried dreadfully now.
"You only care for adoration, Nora."
"Not 'only,' Tinka; don't say 'only.'"
"No, no; but you are never happy unless you are adored, and one tires of that."
"What shall I do, Tinka? Goodness knows I am tired of it myself. Ah, you do not believe it, but it's true, especially now since Milla is adored as well. Ugh! it is disgusting to think of."
"That is merely because it is Milla, and not you."
"No indeed, Tinka," and she raised herself on her elbow. "Tora has given me so much of it that I am tired of it; yes, I am; and to think that she is with Milla now." She flung herself down again and cried, with anger and vexation. She raised herself again suddenly: "But I must get rid of all this; it is disgusting; I despise myself; you do not know what I have been thinking since this morning. Help me, Tinka; you are the only one of them all who speaks the truth to me."
Tinka was unmoved: Nora flung herself down again, turned away and cried.
"I cannot understand," said Tinka at length, "that you who rave so for----"
"Do not use that word"--Nora interrupted her while she made a gesture with her hand behind her--"it has become loathsome now that Milla does it too. Milla 'raves.' Can you imagine anything so----?"
"Well, well, I will not say 'rave.'"
"No, don't."
"Very well, I will say 'interest yourself--you who interest yourself so much in all that is just and great, and who are also so brave, for you would cheerfully die for what you think right----"
"Yes, I could, Tinka; I believe I could do that; ah, how nice it is to hear something good again, and especially from you; I feel quite astray."
"Yes, but now I am coming to what I want to say--do you understand? Is it not a shame that any one so excellent should all the same be such a peacock?"
"A peacock, Tinka?"
"Yes, a peacock; you are just like a peacock!"
"Am I? I think you are----"
"It was not I who said so."
"I thought as much."
"It was Tora who said so."
"Tora! the ungrateful----"
"Yes, but Tora is right; you are dreadfully like a peacock, Nora; that thin little face of yours, and then you are so slender."
"Come, I say, Tinka."
"Yes, it's true. All we friends agree as to that. We are all to be the eyes in your tail. Yes, that is it."
Nora threw herself down and howled, with her head and hands in the eider-down quilt.
"Yes, of course you have offended Tora--you offend every one. You are so capricious, you are so spoilt."
"Yes, that is what I am!" came from the eider-down.
"That is what you are. Frederik says so as well."
"What does Frederik say?"
Nora raised her red face quickly up from the eider-down. Frederik was an authority.
"I will read it to you," answered the other, opening the desk, and taking out a letter of at least five sheets.
"He writes," she said, as she turned to the fourth side of the fourth sheet, with the same calm deliberation with which she had opened the desk, looked for the letter, closed the desk again, and now read: "You must not be too severe with her either, for if that were her real nature, she would behave differently, and understand how to retain her worshippers. As it is, she is only a spoilt child, who has never done anything without being praised for it, and has besides become so capricious that she is tired to-day of those who praised her yesterday."
"Oh dear! how true that is, Tinka."
"But perhaps she will weary of caprice as well, for she certainly desires something more than that. I was impressed by that in the summer. But you must help her, Tinka."
"Yes, you must."
Nora had raised herself, and now sat on the edge of the bed. She had folded her hands, and looked at Tinka. "You must always be with me. I am not content with myself, when you are not with me. Oh, Tinka! I will never, never, never be like that again. If you see the slightest sign of it, you must take me to task for it. You know I do want to be something more than this. I want to be remarkable. Ah! don't laugh; in reality I have no wish to sing and make fun for the others, and be flattered and flattered; but it came so, I can't understand why. I don't want it; I wish to be able to do something, to take up something with an object. _Yes, that is what I want_. Sometimes I believe I must go off to the wars, or die with the Nihilists in Russia. Yes, I do believe it. Or else travel about and lecture; be hissed down and wounded. Yes, I could. I don't know why it should be, but I long for it. I don't say it to boast, Tinka, I only say it because I feel it so.
Believe me, I do feel it in that way. If I fail, it will be because it is nothing but wishing; perhaps I am incapable of it. Well, all the same I have the wish. I have no wish for the sort of thing I do now, and for which I am praised. I have such an unconquerably strong, strong, strong longing."
She raised herself, her eyes sparkled through her tears; her hair stood on end, she had dishevelled it with her long arms whilst she was crying. She threw herself down again. Tinka could not resist all the pleasant remembrances which Nora had awakened. She walked across and bent her broad full figure over her. And there they sat for some time together, talking that endearing nonsense which is proper to the happiness of reconciliation. Tinka did not forget all that she had treasured in her memory for Nora's benefit, but the sting of it was gone. Nora's lively answers made it all appear stupid, and at last she was ready to laugh at what a little time before had seemed something very serious, immensely important.
In the midst of this, some one rushed up the stairs, step by step, up the first flight, like the beat of a drum. Then up the second, then the third, across to the attic, in the same wild unflagging whirl. There was only one who ever came in that fashion, but it could not very well be she. The door was not locked; there was no knock; it was pushed open. Yes, it was Tora! Good heavens!
The amazement, vexation, dignity of the two girls! It could not have been done better at Court, Tinka's perfect unconsciousness that there could be such a person as Tora Holm in the world, or Nora's noble and spiritual, "Don't disturb me," without a word spoken. It was splendid!
Never did so fine a representation more utterly break down. Tora was beaming with delight, victory, and rejoicing. She talked about _twelve_ dolls, some of which were as big as an ordinary child; of--she really believed---_fifty_ dolls' dresses of different sorts, _moire antique_, silk, and velvet, besides morning dresses, embroidered skirts and drawers, silk stockings, gloves and parasols; of beds and curtains; of a wash-hand stand, with all belonging to it, down to the most minute details; of everything from the kitchen to the drawing-room, and the drawing-room furniture; of a splendid plan about the dolls, who were all to go to a Court Ball on the King's birthday; about Milla, who was a hundred thousand times better than they dreamed of, who did not object, nay wished, that they should both come up with her and see it all now, at once, and help about the Court Ball--of course as the deepest of secrets. Yes, it was true; on her word of honour it was true. She told them how it had all happened; about Milla's room, what it was like, and that she had been there a number of times without hearing a word about the dolls. But to-day Milla had shown them to her, merely out of the goodness of her heart to comfort her. Now she wanted to show them to the others, if it could be managed, and all four be friends from this time forward.
Tora had proposed it; Milla had been startled, but she had come round, and at last thought it a capital plan. Milla was so good, and they must be so too; no hesitation--they must. Why should there be two parties?
Milla had her ways, Nora hers.
They had never really done each other any harm, not the least bit; if they would only try to grasp the fact: "we can talk more about it as we go."
The two looked at each other, but Tora gave them no breathing time. "We must tell them at home that we are going to stay to tea, for that was what was meant. It would never do to refuse an invitation, a formal invitation, to the Engels."