Very slightly, however. Is he on your list of patients—at last?
No, strangely enough—not as yet. He comes here only once a year—on his way up to his hunting-grounds.—Excuse me for the moment—
[Makes a movement to go into the hotel.
ULFHEIM's VOICE.
[Heard outside.] Stop a moment, man! Devil take it all, can't you stop? Why do you always scuttle away from me?
[Stops.] I am not scuttling at all, Mr. Ulfheim.
[ULFHEIM enters from the left followed by a servant with a
couple of sporting dogs in leash. ULFHEIM is in shooting
costume, with high boots and a felt hat with a feather in
it. He is a long, lank, sinewy personage, with matted hair
and beard, and a loud voice. His appearance gives no precise
clue to his age, but he is no longer young.]
[Pounces upon the INSPECTOR.] Is this a way to receive strangers, hey? You scamper away with your tail between your legs—as if you had the devil at your heels.
[Calmly, without answering him.] Has Mr. Ulfheim arrived by the steamer?
[Growls.] Haven't had the honour of seeing any steamer. [With his arms akimbo.] Don't you know that I sail my own cutter? [To the SERVANT.] Look well after your fellow-creatures, Lars. But take care you keep them ravenous, all the same. Fresh meat-bones—but not too much meat on them, do you hear? And be sure it's reeking raw, and bloody. And get something in your own belly while you're about it. [Aiming a kick at him.] Now then, go to hell with you!