Falbe (in a feeble voice). Yes.
Tjaelde. Gentlemen, to-day his name is once more exercising its powerful, I might say its creative, influence upon circumstances. I may say that at this moment the country holds no truer benefactor than he.
Pram. Great man.
Tjaelde. Let us drink his health! May prosperity attend him and his, and may his name be deathless in Norway! Mr. Lind!
All. Mr. Lind! Mr. Lind! (They all drink his health effusively.)
Tjaelde (to HAMAR, whom he pulls forward somewhat roughly, as the others begin to help themselves to the dessert.) What has become of the salute?
Hamar (in consternation).Good Lord, yes! (Rushes to the window, but comes back.) I have no handkerchief. I must have laid it down in the dining-room.
Tjaelde. Here is mine!(Feels in his pocket for it.) One cannot rely on you for the least thing. The salute will be too late now. It is disgraceful! (HAMAR goes to the window and waves the handkerchief madly. At last the report of a cannon is heard. The guests are standing in a group, holding their dessert plates.)
Holm. A little bit late!
Knutzon. Rather behind the moment—