Kroll. [To Madam Helseth.] Let him come up, Madam Helseth. [Madam Helseth goes.
Kroll. [Takes up his hat.] I retire from the field—for the moment. But the main battle has yet to be fought.
Rosmer. On my honour, Kroll—I have nothing whatever to do with Mortensgård.
Kroll. I do not believe you. On no subject and in no relation whatever will I henceforth believe you. It is war to the knife now. We will try whether we cannot disarm you.
Rosmer. Oh Kroll—how low—how very low you have sunk!
Kroll. I? And you think you have the right to say that to me! Remember Beata!
Rosmer. Still harping upon that?
Kroll. No. You must solve the enigma of the mill-*race according to your own conscience—if you have anything of the sort left.
Peter Mortensgård enters softly and quietly from the left. He is a small, wiry man with thin reddish hair and beard.
