So much the worse, Consul; for that means as my folks at home won’t put the blame on _you_. They won’t say nothing to me, for they durstn’t, but they’ll look at me when I’m not noticing, as much as to say: Certain sure, it must’a’ been his fault. You see, it’s that—it’s that as I can’t abear, God knows, I’m a poor man, but I’ve always been used to be the first in my own house. My bit of a home is in a manner of speaking a little community, Consul Bernick. That little community I’ve been able to support and hold together because my wife believed in me, my children believed in me. And now the whole thing is to fall to pieces. BERNICK. Well, if it cannot be otherwise, the less must fall before the greater; the part must, in heaven’s name, be sacrificed to the whole. I can give you no other answer; and you’ll find it is the way of the world. But you are an obstinate fellow, Aune! You stand against me, not because you can’t help it, but because you _will_ not prove the superiority of machinery to manual labour. AUNE. And you’re so dead set on this, Consul, because you know that, if you send me about my business, leastways you’ll have shown the papers your goodwill. BERNICK. What if it were so? I have told you how much it means to me—I must either conciliate the papers, or have them all attacking me at the moment when I am working for a great and beneficent cause. What follows? Can I possibly act otherwise than I am doing? Would you have me, in order to hold your home together, as you call it, sacrifice hundreds of other homes—homes that will never be founded, will never have a smoking hearthstone, if I do not succeed in my present enterprise? You must make your choice. AUNE. Well, if you put it that way, I’ve got no more to say. BERNICK. H’m—; my dear Aune, I am truly sorry we must part. AUNE. We will _not_ part, Consul Bernick. BERNICK. What? AUNE. Even a common man has his rights to stand up for here in the world. BERNICK. Of course, of course. Then you can promise——? AUNE. The _Indian Girl_ shall be ready for sea the day after to-morrow. [_He bows and goes out to the right._ BERNICK. Aha, I’ve made _that_ stiff neck bend. I take that as a good omen—— HILMAR TÖNNESEN, _with a cigar in his mouth, comes through the garden gate._ HILMAR. [_On the verandah steps._] Good-morning, Betty! Good-morning, Bernick! MRS. BERNICK. Good-morning. HILMAR. Oh, you’ve been crying, I see. Then you’ve heard?