His Wife.
Well, suppose they have brought the roast chamois? Go on. What next?
The Man.
What next? Well, once I have begun to eat it, there will soon be little of it left—and therefore nothing more to tell. But what are you doing to my head, little playmate?
His Wife.
I am the Goddess of Fame. I have woven you a chaplet of the oak-leaves which the neighbours brought, and am crowning you with it. Thus shall fame—yes, real, resounding fame-some day be yours.
[She crowns him with the chaplet.]
The Man.
Yes, fame, fame, resplendent fame! Look here on the wall as I draw. This is myself advancing. Do you see? But who is that with me?
His Wife.