Of all things,—­what is the softest you have ever felt?

HADDA PADDA.  The hair on my cheek when my lover stroked it.

HERBORIST [taking a plant from the bag].  Now you have granted the yarrow its life.—­Tell me of your joy, young woman.  What made your hand so pretty?

HADDA PADDA.  Happiness made my hand so pretty.  It has smoothed back the hair from the most beautiful forehead.

HERBORIST [taking out another plant].  Now you have granted the catch-fly its life.—­What cast the shade of sorrow in your eyes?

HADDA PADDA.  Now you are not asking me of joy.  Now I will not answer.

HERBORIST [shows her a new plant, fondling the flower].  Why shall the violet die?

HADDA PADDA.  Do not ask me why the violet shall die. ...  I want to be alone.

HERBORIST [gets up, puts the bag on her shoulder, takes the knife and flowers].  God bless thee, young woman!  The Lord be with thee, Hadda Padda. [Disappears to the left.]

[The sun sets behind the mountains and twilight gradually descends.  Hadda Padda sits gazing into space.  Suddenly she is startled by voices, and she disappears into the bushes.  Native and foreign tourists come from behind the rock, two by two, crossing the stage, conversing.  German and French are heard.  Behind them all, comes]

A YOUNG WOMAN [waiting till the others are gone, she calls].  Hadda Padda! ...  Hadda! ...  Hrafnhild! [She shades her eyes with her hand.] There they are! [Goes out to the right.]

[Ingolf and Kristrun enter from behind the rock.]

INGOLF [stops].  Look, there are the children gathering berries. ...  Do you see Hrafnhild?

KRISTRUN.  No, but I see Helga walking toward them.

INGOLF.  I wonder if Hrafnhild is down in the hollow?

KRISTRUN.  Perhaps she is.

INGOLF.  We won’t pass there then.  Let’s rest here for a moment. [Sits down.]

KRISTRUN.  You act as if Hrafnhild were still your sweetheart.

INGOLF.  What do you mean?

KRISTRUN.  I thought you wanted to show me the greater consideration.  But it is quite the contrary.  Sometimes you are positively hard to me, just to spare Hrafnhild every conceivable annoyance.

INGOLF.  Do you remember the day after—.  When she walked around trying to smile to every one.  She was like a sick butterfly.  You didn’t complain then that I was too considerate to her.

KRISTRUN [disregarding his remark].  You and she—­you wear the rings—­you are the lovers in every one’s opinion!  And I have to endure it.

INGOLF.  You gave your consent for us to wear the rings till we leave here.

KRISTRUN.  My consent, yes!  If it is a consent that you made me pity her.  I don’t think she needs any pity now.

INGOLF.  Yes, it is very strange,—­to-day, to-day and yesterday she has been tingling with joy.

KRISTRUN [sitting down].  Now you can see how deeply her love touched her.  After ONE week she’s as though nothing had ever happened.