"This is the man who holds your fate in his hands," whispered the melancholy man to Rehnhjelm. "This is the tragedian, actor-manager, and my deadly foe."
Rehnhjelm could not suppress a shudder of disgust as he looked at the terrible individual who, after having exchanged a look of hatred with Falander, now closed the passage of arms by repeated expectorations.
The door opened again, and in glided the almost elegant figure of a middle-aged man with oily hair and a waxed moustache. He familiarly took his place by the side of the actor-manager, who gave him his middle finger on which shone a ring with a large cornelian.
"This is the editor of the Conservative paper, the defender of throne and altar. He has the run of the theatre and tries to seduce all the girls on whom the actor-manager hasn't cast his eye. He started his career as a Government official, but had to resign his post, I'm ashamed to tell you why," explained Falander. "But I am also ashamed to remain in the same room with these gentlemen, and, moreover, I have asked a few friends here, to-night, to a little supper in celebration of my recent benefit. If you care to spend the evening in bad company, among the most unimportant actors, two notorious ladies and an old blackguard, you are welcome at eight."
Rehnhjelm hesitated a moment before he accepted the invitation.
The spider on the wall climbed through his net as if to examine it and disappeared. The fly remained in its place a little longer. The sun sank behind the cathedral, the meshes of the net were undone as if they had never existed, and the aspens outside the window shivered. The great man and stage-director raised his voice and shouted—he had forgotten how to speak:
"Did you see the attack on me in the Weekly?"
"Don't take any notice of such piffle."
"Take no notice of it? What the devil do you mean? Doesn't everybody read it? Of course the whole town does! I should like to give him a horse-whipping! The impertinent rascal calls me affected and exaggerated."
"Bribe him! Don't make a fuss!"