f being far,
far away in other places; I had a half-undefined sense that it was not
I who was going along over the gravel hanging my head.

A few minutes later, they reached Pascha's bookshop. I had already
stopped at the first window, and as they go by I step forward and
repeat:

"You are losing your book, madam!"

"No; what book?" she asks affrightedly. "Can you make out what book it
is he is talking about?" and she comes to a stop.

I hug myself with delight at her confusion; the irresolute perplexity
in her eyes positively fascinates me. Her mind cannot grasp my short,
passionate address. She has no book with her; not a single page of a
book, and yet she fumbles in her pockets, looks down repeatedly at her
hands, turns her head and scrutinizes the streets behind her, exerts
her sensitive little brain to the utmost in trying to discover what
book it is I am talking about. Her face changes colour, has now one,
now another expression, and she is breathing quite audibly--even the
very buttons on her gown seem to stare at me, like a row of frightened
eyes.

"Don't bother about him!" says her companion, taking her by the arm.
"He is drunk; can't you see that the man is drunk?"

Strange as I was at this instant to myself, so absolutely a prey to
peculiar invisible inner influences, nothing occurred around me without
my observing it. A large, brown dog sprang right across the street
towards the shrubbery, and then down towards the Tivoli; he had on a
very narrow collar of German silver. Farther up the street a window
opened on the second floor, and a servant-maid leant out of it, with
her sleeves turned up, and began to clean the panes on the outside.
Nothing escaped my notice; I was clear-headed and ready-witted.
Everything rushed in upon me with a gleaming distinctness, as if I were
suddenly surrounded by a strong light. The ladies before me had each a
blue bird's wing in their hats, and a plaid silk ribbon round their
necks. It struck me that they were sisters.

They turned, stopped at Cisler's music-shop, and spoke together. I
stopped also. Thereupon they both came back, went the same road as they
had come, passed me again, and turned the corner of University Street
and up towards St. Olav's place. I was all the time as close at their
heels as I dared to be. They turned round once, and sent me a
half-fearful, half-questioning look, and I saw no resentment nor any
trace of a frown in it.

This forbearance with