What was my surprise, when I saw you move, and walk across the
floor! ... Even your dress, altering its folds with the rhythm of
your step, becomes mysterious, like the sea--floating, as it were,
with life itself. ... Only that fleeting sparkle from your eyes as
you roll them upward ... Or when you are lying down, and you
stretch your foot out--so supple, that the tension on your arch
makes your instep seem higher ... And then your everlasting
vivacity: when you laugh, the air seems to float with tiny fairies
... I love you, Kristrun, only you, you, you. [Kristrun still
gazes into space, dreamily. Ingolf reaches hesitatingly for her
hand; discreetly, she withdraws it.]

INGOLF [gets up]. Did you lie to me, Kristrun? The other night,
when I told you, without speaking, for the first time, just as
plainly as now with words, that I loved you: we heard footsteps,
you ran away, you turned around and kissed me, and disappeared--
did this sweet kiss then lie, was it only a moment's impulse that
played with a sacred feeling?

KRISTRUN. It was not, Ingolf.

INGOLF. But--?

KRISTRUN. It was a moment's impulse that played with a moment's
impulse.

INGOLF. Perhaps for you, but not for me.

KRISTRUN. I thought your silent confession that evening was
sincere. The next day, I overheard a conversation between you and