Míchal (Confused).—There! (Thinks for a moment, then suddenly.) And I am to remain here? No, indeed. (Jumps on the bridge, and hastens toward the woods.)

An open space in the woods full of chrysanthemums and bluebells. On the left and in the rear, an old forest. An open space on the right; only a few birch trees stand near a swampy place in which several stones are lying for the purpose of an easy crossing. On the left in the meadow in front of the forest, an old bushy linden tree in bloom. Night; the moon is shining, clouds are driving over it.

Sejtko (Is the first to step forward from the right, looks behind him). Come then, scarecrows, there’s nothing here. (Crosses to the meadow over the rocks.)

Zajíček (Enters carefully, looking about him).—Nothing, (Walks across the stones.) Come ahead; no one is here.

Zima (Enters).—Well, I’m not afraid, but so far as my reason goes, I believe (crossing) that one cannot be too careful at night. The night has its power and its rights, as the saying goes. The day is for work, and like Sunday, night is for rest. That is why a person ought to sleep at night.

Sejtko.—That’s why you sleep even at your music.

Zima.—You be still! Just as if you never fall asleep while playing!

Sejtko.—O, I do fall asleep, perhaps even in church, as at this sermon here. Why, my eyes just closed and my feet just sank beneath me—in short, I made a poor appearance.

Zajíček.—Klásek, where are you?

Klásek.—Here I am. (Enters.) So no one is here?

Sejtko.—No one, unless your wife is waiting for you.

Klásek.—Good heavens, no; she is asleep. But heaven forbid! If she knew, she would die of fear; it would be: “Papa, Papa, have your senses left you, to go at night to a little castle by the lake! You know it is haunted.”