Falk.
Well then, to-morrow it may fly con brio; You're off into the hills with the quartette. I'll guarantee you against cold and wet—
Lind.
Pooh, the quartette may go and climb in trio, The lowly dale has mountain air for me; Here I've the immeasurable fjord, the flowers, Here I have warbling birds and choral bowers; And lady Fortune's self,—for here is <g>she</g>!
Falk.
Ah, lady Fortune by our Northern water Is rara avis,—hold her if you've caught her!
[With a glance towards the house.
Hist—Svanhild—
Lind.
Well; I go,—disclose to none
The secret that we share alone with one.
'Twas good of you to listen: now enfold it
Deep in your heart,—warm, glowing, as I told it.
[He goes out in the background to the others. Falk looks after him a moment, and paces up and down in the garden, visibly striving to master his agitation. Presently Svanhild comes out with a shawl on her arm, and is going towards the back. Falk approaches and gazes at her fixedly. Svanhild stops.
