a lean, well-built, taciturn young man dressed in Loden.

SEELCHEN. Hans!

FELSMAN. [In a deep voice] The gentleman wishes me?

SEELCHEN. [Awed] The Great Horn for to-morrow! [Whispering to him]
It is the celebrated London one.

FELSMAN. The Great Horn is not possible.

LAMOND. You say that? And you're the famous Felsman?

FELSMAN. [Grimly] We start at dawn.

SEELCHEN. It is the first time for years!

LAMOND. [Placing his plaid and rucksack on the window bench] Can I
sleep here?

SEELCHEN. I will see; perhaps--

[She runs out up some stairs]

FELSMAN. [Taking blankets from the cupboard and spreading them on
the window seat] So!

As he goes out into the air. SEELCHEN comes slipping in again
with a lighted candle.