[Throws herself sobbing on Gina’s neck.] Mother, mother!
Gina.
[Pats her shoulder and sighs.] Ah yes; Relling was right, he was. That’s what comes of it when crazy creatures go about presenting the claims of the—what-you-may-call-it.
ACT FIFTH.
Hialmar Ekdal’s studio. Cold, grey, morning light. Wet snow lies upon the large panes of the sloping roof-window.
Gina comes from the kitchen with an apron and bib on, and carrying a dusting-brush and a duster; she goes towards the sitting-room door. At the same moment Hedvig comes hurriedly in from the passage.
Gina.
[Stops.] Well?
Hedvig.
Oh, mother, I almost think he’s down at Relling’s——