Aagot. Yes, it was from her. Here it is. You must hear it.
Leonarda. Yes.
Aagot (reads). "My dear child. I have not written a letter for many years, so I do not know what this will be like. But Hagbart is away, so I must tell you myself. Do not be distressed any longer. As soon as you are married, I will come and live with you." Isn't that glorious, aunt? (She is trembling with happiness, and throws her arms round LEONARDA'S neck.)
Leonarda. But—
Aagot. But what? There is no more "but" about it, don't you see! It is on your account.
Leonarda. On my account? Yes, but—what about you? How do you stand—with Hagbart?
Aagot. Oh, that?—Well, I will tell you the whole story! I can do that now.—Oh, don't take it all so seriously, aunt! It really is nothing. But let us sit down. (Brings forward a seat, as she speaks.) I really feel as if I wanted to sit down for a little while, too!—Well, you see, it came upon me like an unexpected attack—a blow from behind, as it were. Now, my dear aunt, don't look so troubled. It is all over now. As a matter of fact, the beginning of it all was a play I saw.
Leonarda. A play?
Aagot. We saw it together once, you and I, do you remember? Scribe's Bataille de Dames.
Leonarda. Yes.