Wittich.
Well, then we may as well--settle--our affair--first. (Julia, _who has
been standing quite still, panting, utters a low groan. At the sound of
her voice_, Wittich _catches his breath as if suffocating, then sinks
into one of the chairs at the left and stares vacantly at the floor._)
Pierre (_edging up to_ Julia _then softly_).
Can you understand this?
Julia (_glancing back--aside to_ Pierre).
Keep near the weapons!
Pierre (_as_ Wittich _moves_).
Hush!
Wittich.
You must forgive me--I only wanted to--look after--my--wife. (_Breaks
down again._)
Pierre (_aside to_ Julia).
Why, he's quite out of his mind!
Julia.
Keep near the weapons!
Wittich.
I don't care--to settle--this matter--by means of a--so-called--affair
of honour. I'm a plain man. I only know about such things from hearsay.
And any way--I don't see that they help--m-matters much. (_Breaks into
tearless sobs._)
Pierre (_aside_).
He won't hurt us.
Julia (_stammering_).