[With a forced shrug.
Oh, let them chatter.[chatter.]
After all, they can’t sneer the life out of my body.
[Casts himself down upon the heathery slope; lies for some time flat on his back with his hands under his head, gazing up into the sky.
What a strange sort of cloud! It is just like a horse.
There’s a man on it too—and a saddle—and bridle.—
And after it comes an old crone on a broomstick.
[Laughs quietly to himself.
It is mother. She’s scolding and screaming: You beast!
Hei you, Peer Gynt——