Riis. Sang?
Nordan. Yes—and is still singing, of course! And paints! There are pictures by him in every exhibition. And works in bronze and marble! Wonderful! And such a courtier as he is, too! It is he that designs ball-dresses and arranges entertainments—
Riis. Have you gone raving mad?
Nordan. Why do you ask that?
Riis. I am waiting patiently here till you have done talking such damned nonsense! We are accustomed to something of the sort when you are in one of those humours, but to-day I can't understand a blessed word of what you are saying.
Nordan. Don't you, my dear fellow?
Riis. Can you not tell me what my daughter said? Isn't it ridiculous that I cannot get that out of you! Now, briefly and intelligibly, what did she say?
Nordan. Do you want to know?
Riis. He asks that!
Nordan. She said she pitied all the innocent young girls that, generation after generation, disappear—