The Chamberlain.
[Looking after them.] It's impossible to get these two separated.
Fieldbo.
It would be sinful to try.
The Chamberlain.
Fools that we are! How Providence blesses us in spite of ourselves. [Calls out.] Thora, Thora, do look after Selma! Get a shawl for her, and don't let her run about so: she'll catch cold! How short-sighted we mortals are, Doctor! Do you know any cure for that disease?
Fieldbo.
The spectacles of experience; through them you will see more clearly a second time.
The Chamberlain.
You don't say so! Thanks for the advice. But since you feel yourself at home here, you must really pay a little attention to your guests.
Fieldbo.
Certainly; come, Stensgård, shall we?
The Chamberlain.
Oh, no, no—there's my old friend Heire out there
Fieldbo.
He thinks himself at home here too.
The Chamberlain.
Ha ha ha! So he does.
