The Woman.
By-the-bye, I forgot!
You must rear your own youngster, you light-footed scamp!
Little imp, will you go to your father?
The Brat.
[Spits at him.]
Faugh!
I'll chop you with my hatchet; only wait, only wait!
The Woman.
[Kisses The Brat.]
What a head he has got on his shoulders, the dear!
You'll be dad's living image when once you're a man!
Peer.
[Stamping.]
Oh, would you were as far!
The Woman.
As we now are near?
Peer.
[Clenching his hands.]
And all this!
The Woman.
For nothing but thoughts and desires!
It is hard on you, Peer!
Peer.
It is worst for another!—
Solveig, my fairest, my purest gold!
