He did not talk, but looked on absently, trying to listen through the
noise for something lasting. They laughed and drank and made speeches--
for him too; but all this was so unnecessary! They had gained
confidence, they spoke quite openly, there was a certain emancipation in
their general behavior; taken as a whole, they made a good impression.
But the miracle? the incomprehensible? He missed a little anxiety behind
the prosperity, the deep, silent pondering that would show that they had
gazed into a new world. Did they not hear the undertone at all, since
they were making such a noise--the unceasing, soft rhythm that was in
his own ears continually and contained the whole thing? The stillness of
the cell had made his hearing acute; the boisterous laughter, which
expressed their pleasure in life, caused him suffering.

Beside a large blackboard on the platform stood one of the leaders,
writing up the victories of the day, amid the rejoicing of the crowd.
Pelle slipped out unnoticed, and was standing on the steps, breathing in
the quiet night air, when a young man came up to him and held out his
hand. It was his brother-in-law, Frederik Stolpe. "I just wanted to wish
you welcome back," he said, "and to thank you for what you said in
there."

"How is Ellen?" Pelle asked in a low voice.

"She's only pretty well. She lives at 20, Victoria Street, and takes in
washing. I think she would be glad to see you." He looked searchingly at
Pelle. "If you like, I can easily arrange for you to meet at my place."

"Thank you!" Pelle answered, "but I'll go out to her early to-morrow
morning." He no longer needed to go by circuitous routes.