The inn-keeper sank down on a chair in front of him. "Well, Lars Peter Hansen, so you've become a socialist?" he began, blinking his eyes.
Lars Peter dropped his heavy fist on the table so that everything jumped--the inn-keeper included. "I'm done with being treated like dirt--do you understand! I'm just as good as you and all the rest of them. And if I hear any more nonsense, then to hell with you all."
"Of course, of course! 'twas only fun, Lars Peter Hansen. And how's every one at home? Wife and children well?" He still blinked whenever Lars Peter moved.
Lars Peter did not answer him, but helped himself to another dram. The rascal knew quite well all about Sörine.
"D'you know--you should have brought the wife with you. Womenfolk love a trip to town," the inn-keeper tried again. Lars Peter looked suspiciously at him.
"What d'you mean by this tomfoolery?" he said darkly. "You know quite well that she's in there."
"What--is she? Has she run away from you then?"
Lars Peter took another glass. "She's locked up, and you know it--curse you!" He put the glass down heavily on the table.
The landlord saw it was no good pretending ignorance. "I think I do remember hearing something about it," said he. "How was it--got into trouble with the law somehow?"
The rag and bone man gave a hollow laugh. "I should think so! She killed her own mother, 'tis said." The spirit was beginning to affect him.
"Dear, dear! was it so bad as that?" sighed the inn-keeper, turning and twisting as if he had a pain inside. "And now you're going to the King, I suppose?"
Lars Peter lifted his head. "To the King?" he asked. The thought struck him, perhaps this was the miracle he had been hoping for.
"Ay, the King decides whether it's to be life or death, you know. If there's any one he can't stand looking at, he only says: 'Take that fellow and chop off his head!' And he can let folk loose again too, if he likes."
"And how's the likes of me to get near the King?" The rag and bone man laughed hopelessly.
"Oh, that's easily done," said the inn-keeper airily. "Every one in the country has the right to see the King. When you get in there, just ask where he lives, any one can tell you."
"Hm, I know that myself," said Lars Peter with assurance. "I was once nearly taken for the guards myself--for the palace. If it hadn't been for having flat feet, then----"