FIDDLER. When do we start, Johannes?
[The DAUGHTER goes out.]
TALKER. Are you so eager to be gone?
FIDDLER. We have been here eight days.
TALKER. Eight days! And Troy was besieged for eleven years! Eight days! Why, I could talk for eight days without taking breath, and I am by nature a glum, silent man. Nay, nay, say not to me "Eight days." Eight days will not make a man grow old or a woman lose her beauty. (The MOTHER comes into the room.) Or a woman lose her beauty—Madame, I kiss your hands. Were I of less girth I would flit through the window and fall upon my knees at your feet. (The FIDDLER with a shrug goes out.) As it is, I shall enter by the door in the usual way. I have your permission?
MOTHER (smiling). You asked my permission a week ago. You do not need to ask it now.
TALKER (still at the window). It has been a happy week. The week has liked me well.
MOTHER. You take the road again this afternoon. Your plan still holds?
TALKER (with a sigh). They say so, lady.
MOTHER. Who say so? Is not Master Johannes the master of his company? Who say so?