Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/468

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[Looking angrily at him.] No, I daresay not.

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[Catching at her arm.] For Lars—he knows, my—my methods of sport, you see.

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[Eludes him and measures him with a glance.] Do you know what you look like, Mr. Ulfheim?

Ulfheim.

I should think I'm probably most like myself.

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Yes, there you're exactly right. For you're the living image of a faun.

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A faun?

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Yes, precisely; a faun.

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A faun! Isn't that a sort of monster? Or a kind of a wood demon, as you might call it?

Maia.

Yes, just the sort of creature you are. A thing with a goat's beard and goat-legs. Yes, and the faun has horns too!

Ulfheim.

So, so!—has he horns too?