George.
_Marie!!_
Marie.
[_Rising_.] You are right. It was low in me. But he who originates
where I do, is low--so low----
George.
Don't think of it, Marie! Think of this house and all the love it has
given you!
Marie.
How quiet everything is--not a sound to be heard--as silent as the
grave----
George.
Then be content, for they have buried us together!
Marie.
If they only had----!
George.
And see the pale moon--how it throws its silvery rays over the
garden--and yonder is your manzanillo-tree.
Marie.
Yes, yes, do you see it?
George.
And its white, trembling leaves; see, see, each one seems alive--though
not a breath of air is stirring. Come, let us go to it.
Marie.
[_Cowering_.] No, no, I think it is time--we must----
George.