Visit Ylajali
The narrator's visit to Ylajali's apartment on Tuesday evening is the story's most intimate and emotionally volatile encounter, where a night of flirtation, confession, and physical tenderness collapses into mutual fear and misunderstanding, revealing the unbridgeable gap between his desperate poverty and her sheltered world.
The Arrival and the Invitation
After a week of glory and gladness following his rescue from starvation, the narrator, still living in a cheap lodging house in Tomtegaden, spends the afternoon of Tuesday lazily wandering the most frequented streets. Even before seven o'clock he steals up to St. Olav's Place and takes a furtive look at the window of No. 2, then wanders Carl Johann Street until the clocks strike eight. When he returns to the fountain at St. Olav's Place, Ylajali does not appear from the expected direction; instead she comes up behind him, breathing quickly after her walk, and explains that she has accompanied her mother to some people where her mother is spending the evening. When the narrator asks where they should go, she demurs, saying it is a bore to decide. He notices the dark windows of her apartment and learns that the servant has the evening off, leaving her entirely alone. On impulse he asks if they can go up to her place, offering to sit by the door the whole time. She replies tenderly, "You shall certainly not sit down by the door," and leads him by the hand through the dark lobby into her home.
The Chase and the Confession
Inside, while she lights a candle, she laughs and says she will never kiss him again, and they begin a playful chase around the table. The narrator trips on the carpet and falls, his sore foot refusing to bear him, and she notices his limp. She teases him about his many afflictions—first a sore finger, now a sore foot—and asks if he has been run over again while tipsy. She reminds him of the day he followed her and worried her with his witticisms, repeating his words: "You are losing your book, madam; you are quite certainly losing your book, madam!" He confesses that he named her Ylajali, a name with a gliding sound, and she finds it not ugly. After a long discussion they tell one another their real names. She seats herself close to him on the sofa, shoves the chair away with her foot, and notes that he is shaved and looks a little better than the last time, though still shabby. He admits he is very, very poor, and she responds cheerfully that she is poor too. Every word she speaks intoxicates him; he tells her that when he went to bed the previous night he settled his arm as if she lay on it, and she calls this lovely. He puts his arm around her waist, and she asks, "Can I?"
The Revelation and the Rupture
Emboldened, the narrator flings his arms violently around her shoulders, and she sits quietly with closed eyes. He crushes her to him, kisses her, and whispers pet names. She winds her arms around his neck, strokes down his shoulders, and notices the loose hair on his coat. She asks what causes his hair to fall out, implying he drinks too much or leads a dreadful life. Hurt that she believes the worst of him, he decides to clear himself and relates the truth of his misery, including that he once stole five shillings. She listens with open mouth, pale and frightened, her shining eyes bewildered. She repeats "The Lord preserve me!" and keeps silent. He tries to jest and tickle her, but she asks, "I can't be sure that you are not insane!" He checks himself and asks if she means it. She says he looks so strangely, and that the forenoon he followed her he was not tipsy but had just eaten, which makes it worse. He accidentally knocks over the candle, and in the darkness she makes a despairing struggle, whimpering, "No, not that! If you like, you may rather kiss me, oh, dear, kind..." He stops instantly, struck to the heart by her terrified, helpless offer of a kiss as compensation. She relights the candle with trembling hands, and he leans back on the sofa, doing nothing.
The Lingering Farewell
Ylajali casts a look at the clock and says the girl will soon come. The narrator takes the hint and rises. She takes up her jacket as if to put it on, then lets it lie and goes to the fireplace. He asks if her father was in the army, and she confirms he was an officer, surprised that he knew. He says he had a presentiment, adding, "A part of my insanity, eh?" She looks quickly up but does not answer. He stands humbly in confusion, searching for a weighty, cutting word to impress her, but instead begins to talk of trifles. He prattles about sensitive natures that feed on trifles and die for one hard word's sake, and about how poverty sharpens certain powers. The longer he talks, the more troubled she grows; she mutters "My God!" in despair and wrings her hands. He finally says he is going, but asks why she did not leave him in peace, why she turned away from him. He begs to kneel before her for a minute on the crimson rose in the carpet, but she becomes afraid. He insists he is not insane, explaining that he once worked too hard and forgot to dine, but that he can get credit at Ingebret's or Gravesen's. She comes hurriedly over and stretches out her hand; he looks at her with mistrust. She winds her arms around his neck with tears in her eyes, and he hears her say, very lowly and indistinctly, "I am fond of you, in spite of all." She clasps both arms about his neck for perhaps a whole minute, stretching up on her toes. He says only, "What a darling you are now!" then crushes her in his arms, steps back, rushes to the door, and goes out backwards, leaving her behind.
