(Silence.
How are things going to-day?
The Peasant: Eh, I don't know. I think it can't be more than five o'clock. The days don't get much longer.
Simon (shouting in his ear): And how is your daughter?
The Peasant: I don't know. She is not with me any more.
Simon: Perhaps she is better off than you are, eh?
The Peasant: Ah! She might help me out a bit then.
'Tis a bad business, surely!
Good-night to you, masters.
(He goes out. They remain silent for a moment.