Bring him in then. [SELMA _goes out again to the right._ RINGDAL. [_Enters by the foremost door on the right._] Here is your resignation. THE CHAMBERLAIN. Thanks; but you can tear it up. RINGDAL. Tear it up? THE CHAMBERLAIN. Yes, Ringdal; I have found another way. I can make atonement without that; I shall set to work in earnest—— ERIK. [_Enters with_ SELMA _from the right._] Can you forgive me? THE CHAMBERLAIN. [_Hands him the bill._] I cannot be less merciful than fate. ERIK. Father! I shall retire this very day from the business you dislike so much. THE CHAMBERLAIN. No, indeed; you must stick to it. No cowardice! No running away from temptation! But I will stand at your side. [_Loudly._] News for you, gentlemen! I have entered into partnership with my son. SEVERAL GENTLEMEN. What? You, Chamberlain? HEIRE. You, my dear sir? THE CHAMBERLAIN. Yes; it is a useful and honourable calling; or at any rate it can be made so. And now I have no reason to hold aloof any longer. LUNDESTAD. Well, I’ll tell you what, Chamberlain—since you are going to set to work for the good of the district, it would be a shame and disgrace if an old soldier like me were to sulk in his tent. ERIK. Ah, what is this? LUNDESTAD. I cannot, in fact. After the disappointments in love that have befallen Mr. Stensgård to-day, Heaven forbid we should force the poor fellow into the political mill. He must rest and recover; a change of air is what he wants, and I shall see that he gets it. So if my constituents want me, why, they can have me. THE GENTLEMEN. [_Shaking hands with him enthusiastically._] Thanks, Lundestad! That’s a good fellow! You won’t fail us? THE CHAMBERLAIN. Now, this is as it should be; things are settling down again. But whom have we to thank for all this? FIELDBO. Come, Aslaksen, you can explain——? ASLAKSEN. [_Alarmed._] I, Doctor? I’m as innocent as the babe unborn! FIELDBO. What about that letter, then——? ASLAKSEN. It wasn’t my fault, I tell you! It was the election and Bastian Monsen, and chance, and destiny, and Madam Rundholmen’s punch—there was no lemon in it—and there was I, with the whole responsibility of the press upon me—— THE CHAMBERLAIN. [_Approaching._] What? What’s that? ASLAKSEN. The press, sir!