Míchal (Sits motionless in the keen bright light, smiling).—Today I have a great desire to drown some one.

Franc.—God’s wounds! (Runs into the forest on the left.)

Bailiff.—Wait a bit, Sir Chamberlain. (Runs after him.)

Michal (Steps forth from under the linden).—They won’t come any more. And now, dear moon, shine forth, shine forth, and thou, my sunbeam, come to me! (Looks toward the right.) Ah, she comes! (Steps back into the shadow under the linden.)

Dame Klásek (Enters from right, halts, looks about her, spies Míchal. Speaks sharply, without fear).—Who is under the linden?

Míchal.—I.

Dame Klásek.—It strikes me, he sniffles. (Sharply.) Which one of you is it?

Míchal is silent.

Dame Klásek (More sharply).—Well, then, why don’t you answer me? If you are a decent sort, come forth into the light.

Michal (Blows out the lantern and steps forth).—I am a ribbon dealer.

Dame Klásek (Looks him over).—You?

Míchal.—I’m on my way from Kozlovo, from the fair, and I have gone astray.

Dame Klásek.—Was there a fair there today? And where are your goods?

Michal (Points to the ribbons).—Here, this is all I have left; the rest I have sold.

Dame Klásek (Pointedly).—Well, I certainly believe they didn’t want those ribbons. (Ironically.) So there was a good market day. No doubt the shoemakers got rid of all their goods, too, and the potters.

Míchal. What do you mean, why?

Dame Klásek (Looking at him sharply).—Because he from whose coat tail water drips was there. And when he gets among the shoemakers at the market, their goods go like hot cakes. (Emphatically.) You know that—