Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 8).djvu/293

 Ekdal. Sh!

Gregers. And it's not a Muscovy duck either.

Ekdal.

No, Mr.—Werle; it's not a Muscovy duck; for it's a wild duck!

Gregers. Is it really? A wild duck?

Ekdal.

Yes, that's what it is. That "fowl" as you call it—is the wild duck. It's our wild duck, sir.

Hedvig. My wild duck. It belongs to me.

Gregers.

And can it live up here in the garret? Does it thrive?

Ekdal.

Of course it has a trough of water to splash about in, you know.

Hialmar. Fresh water every other day.

Gina.

[Turning towards Hialmar.] But my dear Ekdal, it's getting icy cold here.

Ekdal. H'm, we had better shut up then. It's as well