to ASTA.] No, I dare not. 
THE RAT-WIFE. Don't you think he has a gentle, lovable countenance, 
my young master? 
EYOLF. [Astonished, pointing.] That thing there? 
THE RAT-WIFE. Yes, this thing here. 
EYOLF. [Almost under his breath, staring fixedly at the dog.] I think 
he has the horriblest--countenance I ever saw.
THE RAT-WIFE. [Closing the bag.] Oh, it will come--it will come, 
right enough. 
EYOLF. [Involuntarily drawing nearer, at last goes right up to her, and 
strokes the bag.] But he is lovely--lovely all the same. 
THE RAT-WIFE. [In a tone of caution.] But now he is so tired and 
weary, poor thing. He's utterly tired out, he is. [Looks at ALLMERS.] 
For it takes the strength out of you, that sort of game, I can tell you, sir. 
ALLMERS. What sort of game do you mean? 
THE RAT-WIFE. The luring game. 
ALLMERS. Do you mean that it is the dog that lures the rats? 
THE RAT-WIFE. [Nodding.] Mopsëman and I--we two do it together. 
And it goes so smoothly--for all you can see, at any rate. I just slip a 
string through his collar, and then I lead him three times round the 
house, and play on my Pan's-pipes. When they hear that, they have got 
to come up from the cellars, and down from the garrets, and out of flour 
boles, all the blessed little creatures. 
EYOLF. And does he bite them to death then? 
THE RAT-WIFE. Oh, not at all! No, we go down to the boat, he and I 
do--and then they follow after us, both the big ones and the little 
ratikins. 
EYOLF. [Eagerly.] And what then--tell me! 
THE RAT-WIFE. Then we push out from the land, and I scull with one 
oar, and play on my Pan's-pipes. And Mopsëman, he swims behind. 
[With glittering eyes.] And all the creepers and crawlers, they follow 
and follow us out into the deep, deep waters. Ay, for they have to. 
EYOLF. Why do they have to? 
THE RAT-WIFE. Just because they want not to--just because they are
so deadly afraid of the water. That is why they have got to plunge into 
it. 
EYOLF. Are they drowned, then? 
THE RAT-WIFE. Every blessed one. [More softly.] And there it is all 
as still, and soft, and dark as their hearts can desire, the lovely little 
things. Down there they sleep a long, sweet sleep, with no one to hate 
them or persecute them any more. [Rises.] In the old days, I can tell 
you, I didn't need any Mopsëman. Then I did the luring myself--I alone. 
EYOLF. And what did you lure then? 
THE RAT-WIFE. Men. One most of all. 
EYOLF. [With eagerness.] Oh, who was that one? Tell me! 
THE RAT-WIFE. [Laughing.] It was my own sweetheart, it was, little 
heart-breaker! 
EYOLF. And where is he now, then? 
THE RAT-WIFE. [Harshly.] Down where all the rats are. [Resuming 
her milder tone.] But now I must be off and get to business again. 
Always on the move. [To RITA.] So your ladyship has no sort of use 
for me to-day? I could finish it all off while I am about it. 
RITA. No, thank you; I don't think we require anything. 
THE RAT-WIFE. Well, well, your sweet ladyship, you can never tell. 
If your ladyship should find that there is anything lure that keeps 
nibbling and gnawing, and creeping and crawling, then just see and get 
hold of me and Mopsëman.--Good-bye, good-bye, a kind good-bye to 
you all. [She goes out by the door on the right.] 
EYOLF. [Softly and triumphantly, to ASTA.] Only think, Auntie, now 
I have seen the Rat-Wife too! 
[RITA goes out upon the verandah, and fans herself with her
pocket-handkerchief. Shortly afterwards, EYOLF slips cautiously and 
unnoticed out to the right.] 
ALLMERS. [Takes up the portfolio from the table by the sofa.] Is this 
your portfolio, Asta? 
ASTA. Yes. I have some of the old letters in it. 
ALLMERS. Ah, the family letters-- 
ASTA. You know you asked me to arrange them for you while you 
were away. 
ALLMERS. [Pats her on the head.] And you have actually found time 
to do that, dear? 
ASTA. Oh, yes. I have done it partly out here and partly at my own 
rooms in town. 
ALLMERS. Thanks, dear. Did you find anything particular in them? 
ASTA. [Lightly.] Oh, you know you always find something or other in 
such old papers. [Speaking lower and seriously.] It is the letters to 
mother that are in this portfolio. 
ALLMERS. Those, of course, you must keep yourself. 
ASTA. [With an effort.] No; I am determined that you shall look 
through them, too, Alfred. Some time--later on in life. I haven't the key 
of the portfolio with me just now. 
ALLMERS. It doesn't matter, my dear Asta, for I shall never read your 
mother's    
    
		
	
	
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