SEELCHEN. [Recoiling from both sights, in turn] How sad they look
--all! What are they making?

In the dark doorway of the Inn a light shines out, and in it is
seen a figure, visible only from the waist up, clad in
gold-cloth studded with jewels, with a flushed complacent face,
holding in one hand a glass of golden wine.

SEELCHEN. It is beautiful. What is it?

LAMOND. Luxury.

SEELCHEN. What is it standing on? I cannot see.

Unseen, THE WINE HORN'S mandolin twangs out.

LAMOND. For that do not look, little soul.

SEELCHEN. Can it not walk? [He shakes his head] Is that all they
make here with their sadness?

But again the mandolin twangs out; the shutters fall over the
houses; the door of the Inn grows dark.

LAMOND. What is it, then, you would have? Is it learning? There
are books here, that, piled on each other, would reach to the stars!
[But SEELCHEN shakes her head] There is religion so deep that no man
knows what it means. [But SEELCHEN shakes her head] There is
religion so shallow, you may have it by turning a handle. We have