After which August grabbed a bread knife from the table and vaulted over in the direction of the couple in the corner. The effect was instantaneous: the young lad, roaring with fright, released the lady and rushed to the door, his companion following on his heels. The place then seemed rather empty; there was nobody left for August to set about. He stood there looking at his lady love: a swordsman disarmed, a fool, speechless and stupid.

“It didn’t mean a thing,” said Mattea, trying to smile.

The proprietress came in from the kitchen, rather frightened, and demanded quiet in the house. She didn’t immediately seek to throw out a man like August—such a good customer for her moonshine liquor—but now she felt she had to ask him to be so good as to pay up and leave. He could always come again later. “Let me have the knife!” she said.

August still had the look of one who was bent on extermination, but little by little he gave way. It wasn’t as if he were on a bear hunt now. He handed over his triumphant saber to the woman.

Mattea spoke again: “It didn’t mean anything, you know. I just happen to know him. He is from Ofoten—son of a skipper. He’s called Nils.”

“Yes, but…” stammered August.

“We weren’t doing anything. We were only talking,” Mattea insisted. “We weren’t doing anything, hardly.”

“Wasn’t he kissing you? I saw him.”

“No, no! Are you crazy!” cried Mattea. “We were just playing around.” In the end Mattea was talking as though really she’d scarcely been there in the corner with Nils at all that day—which left August greatly bewildered and stupefied. All right, perhaps he hadn’t all that many eyes in his head, two at most, but he could, after all, see with them both! Meanwhile, Mattea fussed about him, spoke disarmingly to him, and persuaded him to sit down while he paid the bill. When he ordered a new bottle from her to take away, he was not refused it. And when he put his arm around her and asked for a little tender favor, he was given that, too. In short, Mattea could not have been sweeter. That also seemed to bring solace to August.

But when he got up to go, his suspicions returned. He demanded that she should repudiate Nils and everybody else in the world.

“Yes!” she made haste to reply. “Yes, I do, believe me.”

“Because if you don’t, you can just hand over the ring,” he said.

She made as if to pull off the ring and began sobbing a little. This compliance on her part had a remarkably good effect on August. He wasn’t far from tears himself now, and said: “You can keep the ring for the time being.”

He turned to ask Edevart: “She promised to be faithful to me forever, isn’t that so?”

Edevart felt honored to be playing a part in all this, and he answered: “Yes, to that I am a solemn witness.”

“Yes, on that you may stake your life,” replied Mattea, weeping with emotion. “I won’t give him so much as a single glance ever again.”

“Then you can keep the ring!” he announced magnanimously.

But Edevart clearly considered the betrothal to be somewhat uncertain. When they were standing in the telegraph office, he quietly asked whether it might perhaps not be better to delay sending the telegram until tomorrow. “What do you think yourself?” he added, afraid of giving offense to a man who had been all around the world.

“No, I’m going to buy that boat now,” replied August firmly. “You heard what she promised!”

“But how am I going to get back home again?”

“By the steamer,” replied August. Meanwhile, he had been scrawling on a number of blank forms; finally he got the telegram straight and handed it in, reply paid. He had sobered up somewhat.

What about August going aboard the boat now for a little sleep and rest? No, certainly not! He was a free man, he had plenty of time, and he had money in his pocket.