[Looking angrily at him.] No, I daresay not.
[Catching at her arm.] For Lars—he knows my—my methods of sport, you see.
[Eludes him, and measures him with a glance.] Do you know what you look like, Mr. Ulfheim?
I should think I'm probably most like myself.
Yes, there you're exactly right. For you're the living image of a faun.
A faun?
Yes, precisely; a faun.
A faun! Isn't that a sort of monster? Or a kind of a wood demon, as you might call it?
Yes, just the sort of creature you are. A thing with a goat's beard and goat-legs. Yes, and the faun has horns too!
So, so!—has he horns too?