TALKER (nervously). I suppose the fact that we are going off this afternoon--the joy of returning to our old gay life is--is affecting us? SINGER. I--I suppose so. (Without enthusiasm) Yes, that must be it. TALKER. This cauliflower existence, this settled life which even the least enterprising cabbage would find monotonous, we have had more than enough of it, my friend. SINGER. Yes. (He sighs deeply.) I sigh to think how we have wasted these eight days. TALKER. Ah! (He sighs still more deeply.) However, Heaven be praised, we are for the road this afternoon. SINGER (gloomily). Heaven be praised! It is a grand life. TALKER (carelessly). Of course, if you came to me and said, "Johannes," you said, "I left my home in a fit of melancholy five months agone; the melancholy is cured, I will return home again"--why, I would say, "God bless you, Master Duke; go your way." Well, I can understand such a thing happening to a man of your age, not born to the wandering as I am. SINGER. Bless you, Johannes, you are a true gentleman. TALKER (airily). Say no more, say no more. SINGER. But I cannot accept this sacrifice. I pledged myself to serve you for a year, and I'll keep my pledge. TALKER (considerably upset by this). Wait a moment, Master Duke; I have myself thought of retiring these many months past. Indeed, it was only for your sake-- SINGER. No, no, I cannot allow it. It is only for my sake that you are saying this. We will take the road this afternoon. (Heroically) Indeed, I would infinitely prefer it. I am enamoured of the wandering life. TALKER. It is a great life. It means everything to me. (They stand side by side looking gloomily in front of them. Gradually they begin to glance towards each other; they catch each other's eyes--and understand each other thoroughly.) TALKER (clapping the SINGER heartily on the back). I knew it, I knew it! You and the wandering life! SINGER (delightedly). You, too, Johannes! You've had enough of it! (They suddenly turn round and go up and down the room together, piping and singing. A genteel cough is heard outside the window, and the MOTHER is seen for a moment. The TALKER turns round with his pipe to his lips. They go up the room together again, and at the top the TALKER, with a wave of the hand, leaves his companion and goes out. He is seen passing the window.) [The DAUGHTER comes in.] SINGER. Sweetheart! DAUGHTER (going to him). Is it all right? SINGER. Everything is all right, beloved. DAUGHTER. You have told him? SINGER (nodding). It couldn't have fallen out better. He, too, was tired of wandering and wanted to settle down. DAUGHTER. I told mother. She seemed glad. You know, I think she seems younger about something. [Enter FIDDLER.] FIDDLER. Are we starting this afternoon? DAUGHTER. Oh, Fiddler dear, do you mind very much? (She holds out her hand, and the SINGER takes it.) We aren't coming at all. We--we-- SINGER. We are getting married. FIDDLER (nodding to herself). I thought so.