Relling.
[To Hialmar.] Let us drain a glass to the old hunter.
Hialmar.
[Clinks glasses with him.] To the undaunted sportsman who has looked death in the face!
Relling.
To the grey-haired—— [Drinks.] By-the-bye, is his hair grey or white?
Hialmar.
Something between the two, I fancy; for that matter, he has very few hairs left of any colour.
Relling.
Well well, one can get through the world with a wig. After all, you are a happy man, Ekdal; you have your noble mission to labour for——