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PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I?  Far be it from me to—–­

MAIA.

[Quickly.] Of course Lars goes with us—­with the dogs.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I feel no curiosity as to the movements of Mr. Lars and his dogs. [Changing the subject.] Would you not rather sit properly on the seat?

MAIA.

[Drowsily.] No, thank you.  I’m lying so delightfully in the soft heather.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

I can see that you are tired.

MAIA.

[Yawning.] I almost think I’m beginning to feel tired.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

You don’t notice it till afterwards—­when the excitement is over—–­

MAIA.

[In a drowsy tone.] Just so.  I will lie and close my eyes.

    [A short pause.

MAIA.

[With sudden impatience.] Ugh, Rubek—­how can you endure to sit there listening to these children’s screams!  And to watch all the capers they are cutting, too!

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

There is something harmonious—­almost like music—­in their movements, now and then; amid all the clumsiness.  And it amuses me to sit and watch for these isolated moments—­when they come.

MAIA.

[With a somewhat scornful laugh.] Yes, you are always, always an artist.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

And I propose to remain one.

MAIA.

[Lying on her side, so that her back is turned to him.] There’s not a bit of the artist about him.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[With attention.] Who is it that’s not an artist?

MAIA.

[Again in a sleepy tone.] Why, he—­the other one, of course.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

The bear-hunter, you mean?

MAIA.

Yes.  There’s not a bit of the artist about him—­not the least little bit.

PROFESSOR RUBEK.

[Smiling.] No, I believe there’s no doubt about that.

MAIA.

[Vehemently, without moving.] And so ugly as he is! [Plucks up a tuft of heather and throws it away.] So ugly, so ugly!  Isch!