Lamond.  And don’t you want to see the world?

Seelchen.  Sometimes. [Going to a door, she calls softly] Hans! [Then pointing to another door] There are seven German gentlemen asleep in there!

Lamond.  Oh God!

Seelchen.  Please?  They are here to see the sunrise. [She picks up a little book that has dropped from LAMOND’S pocket] I have read several books.

Lamond.  This is by the great English poet.  Do you never make poetry here, and dream dreams, among your mountains?

Seelchen. [Slowly shaking her head] See!  It is the full moon.

     While they stand at the window looking at the moon, there enters
     a lean, well-built, taciturn young man dressed in Loden.

Seelchen.  Hans!

Felsman. [In a deep voice] The gentleman wishes me?

Seelchen. [Awed] The Great Horn for to-morrow! [Whispering to him]
It is the celebrated London one.

Felsman.  The Great Horn is not possible.

Lamond.  You say that?  And you’re the famous Felsman?

Felsman. [Grimly] We start at dawn.

Seelchen.  It is the first time for years!

Lamond. [Placing his plaid and rucksack on the window bench] Can I sleep here?

Seelchen.  I will see; perhaps—­

     [She runs out up some stairs]

Felsman. [Taking blankets from the cupboard and spreading them on the window seat] So!

     As he goes out into the air.  Seelchen comes slipping in again
     with a lighted candle.

Seelchen.  There is still one bed.  This is too hard for you.

Lamond.  Oh! thanks; but that’s all right.

Seelchen.  To please me!

Lamond.  May I ask your name?

Seelchen.  Seelchen.

Lamond.  Little soul, that means—­doesn’t it?  To please you I would sleep with seven German gentlemen.

Seelchen.  Oh! no; it is not necessary.

Lamond. [With. a grave bow] At your service, then.
[He prepares to go]

Seelchen.  Is it very nice in towns, in the World, where you come from?

Lamond.  When I’m there I would be here; but when I’m here I would be there.

Seelchen. [Clasping her hands] That is like me but I am always here.

Lamond.  Ah! yes; there is no one like you in towns.

Seelchen.  In two places one cannot be. [Suddenly] In the towns there are theatres, and there is beautiful fine work, and—­dancing, and—­churches—­and trains—­and all the things in books—­and—­

Lamond.  Misery.

Seelchen.  But there is life.

Lamond.  And there is death.