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Svanhild.
Have I?
Falk.
Yes, for you have slain
My young, high-hearted, joyous exultation—
[Contemptuously.
By your betrothal!
Svanhild.
How! But pray, explain—!
Falk.
O, it's in full accord with expectation;
He gets his licence, enters orders, speeds to
A post,—as missionary in the West—
Svanhild [in the same tone].
A pretty penny, also, he succeeds to;—
For it is Lind you speak of—?
Falk.
You know best
Of whom I speak.
Svanhild [with a subdued smile].
As the bride's sister, true,
I cannot help—
