Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 1).pdf/309



[Making eyes at ] Yes, I have mine, that is sure enough. Ha, ha, ha!

[To herself, quivering.] To have to suffer all this shame and scorn! No, no; now to essay the last remedy!

What ails you? Meseems you look so pale.

'Twill soon pass over. [Turns to the ] Did I say e'en now that I had forgotten all my tales? I bethink me now that I remember one.

Good, good, my wife! Come, let us hear it.

[Urgently.] Yes, tell it us, tell it us, Dame Margit!

I almost fear that 'twill little please you; but that must be as it may.

[To himself.] Saints in heaven, surely she would not—!