allowing yourself to insult, or to
be insulted! [Music is heard from the orchard; guitar and an Italian
song.] The singers have arrived; perhaps you would all like to step out
and have a bit of harmony on top of all this.

[They all go out except the doctor, who goes over to look at some
drawings on wall right near door to Axel's room. The music outside is
played softly. Mrs. Hall comes in and walks unsteadily across the
scene and sits in a chair. The doctor, who does not recognize her, bows
deeply.]

MRS. HALL. What music is that out there?

DR. OeSTERMARK. They are some Italians, dear lady.

MRS. HALL. Yes? No doubt the ones I heard at Monte Carlo.

DR. OeSTERMARK. Oh, perhaps there are other Italians.

MRS. HALL. Well, I believe it's none other than Oestermark! No one could
be as quick as he in his retorts.

DR. OeSTERMARK [Stares at her]. Ah--think--there are things--that--are
less dreadful than dread! It is you, Carolina! And this is the moment
that for eighteen years I have been running away from, dreamed about,
sought, feared, wished for; wished for that I might receive the shock
and afterward have nothing to dread! [He takes out a vial and wets his
upper lip with a few drops.] Don't be afraid; it's not poison, in such
little doses. It's for the heart, you see.

MRS. HALL. Ugh, your heart! Yes, you have so much!

DR. OeSTERMARK. It's strange that two people cannot meet once every
eighteen years without quarreling.

MRS. HALL. It was always you who quarreled!

DR. OeSTERMARK. Alone? What!--Shall we stop now?--I must try to look
at you. [He takes a chair and sits down opposite Mrs. Hall.] Without
trembling!

MRS. HALL. I've become old!

DR. OeSTERMARK. That's what happens; one has read about it, seen it, felt
it one's self, but nevertheless it is horrifying. I am old, too.

MRS. HALL. Are you happy in your new life?

DR. OeSTERMARK. To tell the truth, it's one and the same thing;
different, but quite the same.

MRS. HALL. Perhaps the old life was better, then?

DR. OeSTERMARK. No, it wasn't better, as it was about the same, but it's
a question if it wouldn't have seemed better now, just because it was
the old life. One doesn't blossom but once, and then one goes to seed;
what comes afterward is only a little aftermath. And you, how are you
getting along?

MRS. HALL [Offended]. What do you mean?

DR. OeSTERMARK. Don't misunderstand me. Are you contented
with--your--lot? I mean--oh, that it