Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/234



[Impatiently.] Well, really, mother, I don't think I can well get out of it. What do you say, Aunt? I should like you to feel quite free, Erhart. [Goes up to her menacingly.] You want to take him away from me! [Rising.] Yes, if only I could, Gunhild! [Music is heard from above.

[Writhing as if in pain.] Oh, I can't endure this! [Looking round.] What have I done with my hat? [To ] Do you know the air that she is playing up there?

No. What is it?

It's the Danse Macabre—the Dance of Death! Don't you know the Dance of Death, Aunt?

[Smiling sadly.] Not yet, Erhart.

[To ] Mother—I beg and implore you—let me go!