Lamond still looking back goes up the stairs; and Felsman waits
     for him to pass.

Seelchen. [From the window seat] It was hard for him here.  I thought.

     He goes up to her, stays a moment looking down then bends and
     kisses her hungrily.

Seelchen.  Art thou angry?

     He does not answer, but turning out the lamp, goes into an inner
     room.

     Seelchen sits gazing through the window at the peaks bathed in
     full moonlight.  Then, drawing the blankets about her, she
     snuggles doom on the window seat.

Seelchen. [In a sleepy voice] They kissed me—­both. [She sleeps]

The scene falls quite dark

SCENE II

The scene is slowly illumined as by dawn.  Seelchen is still lying on the window seat.  She sits up, freeing her face and hands from the blankets, changing the swathings of deep sleep for the filmy coverings of a dream.  The wall of the hut has vanished; there is nothing between her and the three mountains veiled in mist, save a through of darkness.  There, as the peaks of the mountains brighten, they are seen to have great faces.

Seelchen.  Oh!  They have faces!

The face of the wine Horn is the profile of a beardless youth.  The face of the cow Horn is that of a mountain shepherd. solemn, and broom, with fierce black eyes, and a black beard.  Between them the great Horn, whose hair is of snow, has a high. beardless visage, as of carved bronze, like a male sphinx, serene, without cruelty.  Far down below the faces of the peaks. above the trough of darkness, are peeping out the four little heads of the flowers of edelweiss, and gentian, mountain dandelion, and ALPENROSE; on their heads are crowns made of their several flowers, all powdered with dewdrops; and when the flowers lift their child-faces little tinkling bells ring.

All around the peaks there is nothing but blue sky.

Edelweiss. [In a tiny voice] Would you?  Would you?  Would you? 
Ah! ha!

Gentian, M. Dandelion, ALPENROSE [With their bells ranging enviously] Oo-oo-oo!

          From behind the Cow Horn are heard the voices of Cowbells
          and mountain air: 

     “Clinkel-clink!  Clinkel-clink!”
     “Mountain air!  Mountain air!”

          From behind the wine Horn rise the rival voices Of View of
          Italy, Flume of steam, and things in books: 

     “I am Italy!  Italy!”

     “See me—­steam in the distance!”