n, and the
first two couples are left, slowly, solemnly dancing, apart from
each other as before.

SEELCHEN. [Shuddering] Shall I one day dance like that?

The Youth of THE WINE HORN appears again beneath the lamp. He
strikes a loud chord; then as SEELCHEN moves towards that sound
the lamp goes out; there is again only blue shadow; but the
couples have disappeared into the Inn, and the doorway has grown
dark.

SEELCHEN. Ah! What I do not like, he will not let me see.

LAMOND. Will you not come, then, little soul?

SEELCHEN. Always to dance?

LAMOND: Not so!

THE SHUTTERS of the houses are suddenly thrown wide. In a
lighted room on one aide of the Inn are seen two pale men and a
woman, amongst many clicking machines. On the other side of the
Inn, in a forge, are visible two women and a man, but half
clothed, making chains.

SEELCHEN. [Recoiling from both sights, in turn] How sad they look
--all! What are they making?

In the dark doorway of the Inn a light shines out, and in it is
seen a figure, visible only from the waist up, clad in
gold-cloth studded with jewels, with a flushed complacent face,
holding in one hand a glass of golden wine.

SEELCHEN. It is beautiful. What is it?

LAMOND. Luxury.

SEELCHEN. What is it standing on? I cannot see.

Unseen, THE WINE HORN'S mandolin twangs out.

LAMOND. For that do not look, little soul.

SEELCHEN. Can it not walk? [He shakes his head] Is that all they
make here with their sadness?

But again the mandolin twangs out; the shutters fall over the
houses; the door of the Inn grows dark.

LAMOND. What is it, then, you would have? Is it learning? There
are books here, that, piled on each other, would reach to the stars!
[But SEELCHEN shakes her head] There is religion so deep that no man
knows what it means. [But SEELCHEN shakes her head] There is
religion so shallow, you may have it by turning a handle. We have
everything.

SEELCHEN. Is God here?

LAMOND. Who knows? Is God with your goats? [But SEELCHEN shakes
her head] What then do you want?

SEELCHEN. Life.

The mandolin twangs out.

LAMOND. [Pointing to his breast] There is but one road to life.

SEELCHEN. Ah! but I do not love.

LAMOND. When a feather dies, is it not loving the wind--the unknown?
When the day brings not new things, we are children of sorrow.