This page needs to be proofread.
Selma.
Perhaps—in a way.
Erik.
[Putting his arm round her waist.] But a new fairy-tale grows out of the old one, and in it the Princess becomes a Queen!
Selma.
On the same condition as real Princesses?
Erik.
What condition?
Selma.
They must go into exile—to a foreign kingdom.
Erik.
A cigar, Mr. Stensgård?
Stensgård.
Thank you, not just now.
Doctor Fieldbo and Thora enter from the garden.
Selma.
[Going towards them.] Is that you, Thora dear? I hope you're not ill?
Thora.
I? No.
Selma.
Oh, but I'm sure you must be; you seem to be always consulting the doctor of late.
Thora.
No, I assure you
