HADDA PADDA. Do not ask me why the violet shall die. ... I want to
be alone.

HERBORIST [gets up, puts the bag on her shoulder, takes the knife
and flowers]. God bless thee, young woman! The Lord be with thee,
Hadda Padda. [Disappears to the left.]

[The sun sets behind the mountains and twilight gradually
descends. Hadda Padda sits gazing into space. Suddenly she is
startled by voices, and she disappears into the bushes. Native and
foreign tourists come from behind the rock, two by two, crossing
the stage, conversing. German and French are heard. Behind them
all, comes]

A YOUNG WOMAN [waiting till the others are gone, she calls]. Hadda
Padda! ... Hadda! ... Hrafnhild! [She shades her eyes with her
hand.] There they are! [Goes out to the right.]

[Ingolf and Kristrun enter from behind the rock.]

INGOLF [stops]. Look, there are the children gathering berries.
... Do you see Hrafnhild?

KRISTRUN. No, but I see Helga walking toward them.

INGOLF. I wonder if Hrafnhild is down in the hollow?

KRISTRUN. Perhaps she is.

INGOLF. We won't pass there then. Let's rest here for a moment.