Jean. Ah!
Bastian. They who go out by the Grand’ fontaine pass this way.
Odile. (Softly.) Near our farm. From our house one can see them passing.
Jean. Ah!
Ulrich. Chut!
Jean. I hear the breathing of their horses.
Ulrich. Be still.
Jean. We are doing nothing wrong.
Bastian. Wait.
Ulrich. Down there—wait—lean over.