CHRISTINE.  Well, as we’ve come to talk of that now, perhaps it would be just as well if you looked for something, seeing that we’re going to get married after all.

JEAN.  Well, what could I look for?  As a married man I couldn’t get a place like this.

CHRISTINE.  No, I understand that.  But you could get a job as a janitor, or maybe as a messenger in some government bureau.  Of course, the public loaf is always short in weight, but it comes steady, and then there is a pension for the widow and the children—­

JEAN. [Making a face] That’s good and well, but it isn’t my style to think of dying all at once for the sake of wife and children.  I must say that my plans have been looking toward something better than that kind of thing.

CHRISTINE.  Your plans, yes—­but you’ve got obligations also, and those you had better keep in mind!

JEAN.  Now don’t you get my dander up by talking of obligations!  I know what I’ve got to do anyhow. [Listening for some sound on the outside] However, we’ve plenty of time to think of all this.  Go in now and get ready, and then we’ll go to church.

CHRISTINE.  Who is walking around up there?

JEAN.  I don’t know, unless it be Clara.

CHRISTINE. [Going out] It can’t be the count, do you think, who’s come home without anybody hearing him?

JEAN. [Scared] The count?  No, that isn’t possible, for then he would have rung for me.

CHRISTINE. [As she goes out] Well, God help us all!  Never have I seen the like of it!

[The sun has risen and is shining on the tree tops in the park.  The light changes gradually until it comes slantingly in through the windows.  JEAN goes to the door and gives a signal.]

JULIA. [Enters in travelling dress and carrying a small birdcage covered up with a towel; this she places on a chair] Now I am ready.

JEAN.  Hush!  Christine is awake.

JULIA. [Showing extreme nervousness during the following scene] Did she suspect anything?

JEAN.  She knows nothing at all.  But, my heavens, how you look!

JULIA.  How do I look?

JEAN.  You’re as pale as a corpse, and—­pardon me, but your face is dirty.

JULIA.  Let me wash it then—­Now! [She goes over to the washstand and washes her face and hands] Give me a towel—­Oh!—­That’s the sun rising!

JEAN.  And then the ogre bursts.

JULIA.  Yes, ogres and trolls were abroad last night!—­But listen,
Jean.  Come with me, for now I have the money.

JEAN. [Doubtfully] Enough?

JULIA.  Enough to start with.  Come with me, for I cannot travel alone to-day.  Think of it—­Midsummer Day, on a stuffy train, jammed with people who stare at you—­and standing still at stations when you want to fly.  No, I cannot!  I cannot!  And then the memories will come:  childhood memories of Midsummer Days, when the inside of the church was turned into a green forest—­birches and lilacs; the dinner at the festive table with relatives and friends; the afternoon in the park, with dancing and music, flowers and games!  Oh, you may run and run, but your memories are in the baggage-car, and with them remorse and repentance!