Olof. Weakness, or perhaps a touch of old devotion and gratitude, but not because of the tie of blood. What is it, anyhow?
Lars. You are tired out, Olof.
Olof. Yes, I feel exhausted; I have been awake all night.
Lars. You were so late in coming.
Olof. I was out.
Lars. Your doings seem to shun the daylight.
Olof. The daylight shuns my doings.
Lars. Beware of false apostles of freedom!
Olof (struggling with sleepiness and fatigue). That's a self-contradictory term. Oh, don't talk to me—I can't stand any more. I spoke so much at our meeting—But you don't know about our society—Concordia res parvae crescunt—We mean to continue the Reformation—Gert is a farsighted man—I seem so small beside him—Good-night, Lars! (He falls asleep on a chair.)
Lars (stands looking at him with solicitude). Poor brother—may God protect you! (Resounding blows on the street door are heard.) What's that? (He goes to the window.)