Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/55



[Clinging to .] No, I dare not.

Don't you think he has a gentle, lovable countenance, my young master?

[Astonished, pointing.] That thing there?

Yes, this thing here.

[Almost under his breath, staring fixedly at the dog.] I think he has the horriblest—countenance I ever saw.

[Closing the bag.] Oh, it will come—it will come, right enough.

[''Involuntarily drawing nearer, at last goes right up to her, and strokes the bag.''] But he is lovely—lovely all the same.

[In a tone of caution.] But now he is so tired and weary, poor thing. He's utterly tired out, he is. [Looks at .] For it takes the strength out of you, that sort of game, I can tell you, sir.