Gertrude.
[Leans on him lovingly.] My George. [Laughs suddenly.] Oh, just look! he is simply covered with hay!
George.
Then you may make yourself useful by brushing me off.
Brauer.
The hayloft seems to be your favorite sleeping-place lately.
George.
Sleep? Heavens! who could sleep in this weather? I roam about. Lord knows where, over meadows and fields. Such St. John days!!! It's enough to drive one mad. The days never seem to end. Late last night I was sitting in front of my window. Said I to myself: "No sleep for me to-night, until that cursed nightingale runs out of melody"--when suddenly a meadow-lark announces the break of day--and there, it's morning. To the left, the twilight: to the right, the dawn, peacefully together. From glow to glow a new day arises. Children, I tell you, it was beautiful. Give me a cup of coffee.
Brauer.
But, tell me! Are you going to remain here now?