STENSGÅRD. It’s of no use talking to you. You have never felt the spur of ambition. You have dawdled and drifted all your days—first at college, then abroad, now here. FIELDBO. Perhaps; but at least it has been delightful. And no reaction follows, like what you feel when you get down from the table after—— STENSGÅRD. Stop that! I can bear anything but that. You are doing a bad action—you are damping my ardour. FIELDBO. Oh, come! If your ardour is so easily damped—— STENSGÅRD. Stop, I say! What right have you to break in upon my happiness? Do you think I am not sincere? FIELDBO. Yes, I am sure you are. STENSGÅRD. Well, then, why go and make me feel empty, and disgusted, and suspicious of myself? [_Shouts and cheers from the tent._] There—listen! They are drinking my health. An idea that can take such hold upon people—by God, it _must_ have truth in it! THORA BRATSBERG, RAGNA MONSEN, _and_ MR. HELLE _enter from the left and cross, half-way back._ HELLE. Look, Miss Bratsberg; there is Mr. Stensgård. THORA. Then I won’t go any further. Good-night, Ragna dear. HELLE AND MISS MONSEN. Good-night, good-night. [_They go out to the right._ THORA. [_Advancing._] I am Miss Bratsberg. I have a letter for you, from my father. STENSGÅRD. For me? THORA. Yes; here it is. [_Going._ FIELDBO. May I not see you home? THORA. No, thank you. I can go alone. Good-night. [_Goes out to the left._ STENSGÅRD. [_Reading the letter by a Chinese lantern._] What is this! FIELDBO. Well—what has the Chamberlain to say to you? STENSGÅRD. [_Bursts into loud laughter._] I must say I didn’t expect this! FIELDBO. Tell me——? STENSGÅRD. Chamberlain Bratsberg is a pitiful creature. FIELDBO. You dare to—— STENSGÅRD. Pitiful! Pitiful. Tell any one you please that I said so. Or rather, say nothing about it——[_Puts the letter in his pocket._] Don’t mention this to any one! [_The_ COMPANY _come out from the tent._ MONSEN. Mr. President! Where is Mr. Stensgård? THE CROWD. There he is! Hurrah! LUNDESTAD.