Asta.
[Laying her hand compassionately on his arm.] Poor Alfred!
Allmers.
[Gazing at her.] Is it really true then, Asta? Or have I gone mad? Or am I only dreaming? Oh, if it were only a dream! Just think, if I were to waken now!
Asta.
Oh, if I could only waken you!
Allmers.
[Looking out over the water.] How pitiless the fiord looks to-day, lying so heavy and drowsy—leaden-grey—with splashes of yellow—and reflecting the rain-clouds.
Asta.
[Imploringly.] Oh, Alfred, don’t sit staring out over the fiord!