[She goes into the house; Falk remains motionless, looking after her; far out on the fjord is seen a boat, from which the following chorus is faintly heard:
Chorus.
My wings I open, my sails spread wide,
And cleave like an eagle life’s glassy tide;
Gulls follow my furrow’s foaming;
Overboard with the ballast of care and cark;
And what if I shatter my roaming bark,
It is passing sweet to be roaming!
Falk [starting from a reverie].
What, music? Ah, it will be Lind’s quartette