Liljekrona. No, there is not so much time for practice here.
Ruster. And the old spirit has gone out of you.
Liljekrona. I sometimes think so myself. It is hard to settle down after a life of wandering. Something wild keeps crying in my soul, bidding me be off again.
Olga. Why is not home the place for music, Liljekrona? Surely those who love you most care most to hear. Must you seek your inspiration from strangers?
Liljekrona. No, Olga, you are more to me than a world of strangers. It is you alone who hold me here.
Ruster. Yes—you have a warm fire and a full cellar to keep you at home. (Liljekrona shrugs and turns away impatiently.) But what about the man who has not money enough to fill his flask? (Bitterly.) My horse, and carriole, and fur coat—they’re all gone! (Drinks, then laughs boisterously.) But still I have friends—lots of friends in Varmland, and they’re always glad to see me and give me a cup of cheer! (He drains his flask and wipes his mustache with the back of his hand. Liljekrona rises disgustedly and crosses the room.)
Olga. (Pointedly) Have you more copying to do still, Ruster?
Ruster. (Blinking at her) The “Folksong” is almost finished. I was thinking, Liljekrona—that when that is done, there are two others you showed me yesterday, that would go well with this.
Liljekrona. It is better alone.
Ruster. But those two shepherd songs. I took the book to my room. Wait till I bring it down. (He rises unsteadily. Exit.)