Brauer.
[_In door_.] Did you hear anything, children? Any noise?
George.
We heard screams and a scuffle. What was the matter?
Brauer.
Oh, nothing of any consequence. Don't mind it. An old vagabond of a
woman, that's all. I have only to sign the papers now, then I'll be
back. [_Exit_.]
George.
_Marie_!
Marie.
Hush, not a word, not a word! She out there must go her way, and I must
go mine!
George.
What do you mean?
Marie.
You said it yourself. 'Tis madness! Yes, yes; 'tis madness!
_All_--_all_! What we do--what we desire--all--all!
George.
Marie!
Marie.
Or do you imagine for one moment we could be happy together? No, I know
you too well. I know the certain result. You would never forgive
yourself nor me, and in the end life would become a burden to me, if
only because I was in your way. Yes, yes, that would be the end of it
all----
George.
_Marie_, I will be faithful to you forever, let come what may, be it
good or bad; you know that!
Marie.
Yes, thank God!--yes!
George.
If there was only the slightest possibility of a chance to escape from
all this whirl--then we might be free, we might---- But no matter what
we begin, we cannot shake off nor disregard our obligations to this
house; never, as long as we live!
Marie.
Therefore, what more can you desire? Everything on earth we possess,
all that was beautiful, all the love, all--all, we gave to each other.
There is nothing more to give, for either one of us. St. John's night
is past, the fires are out, are dead----
George.
And what shall become of us?
Marie.
Of you? That I can't tell. Perhaps you will be happy, perhaps not; that
must all rest with yourself. And I? Oh, be content. I will take care of
myself. As soon as possible I shall leave this house. Not to-day, as I
would like--it might create suspicion----
George.
And where will you go?
Marie.
Ah, the world is large. I shall go far, far away, where no one will
ever find me. No, no, not even you, George.
George.
And if you should go to ruin out there?
Marie.
Do not fear. I am the calamity child, the foundling. My hands are hard
and callous--see, see! Just like my heart is, now. I will work and
work, and toil, until I fall exhausted--then I will sleep and rest,
until it is time for work again; and thus I will perhaps maintain a
miserable existence.
George.
You say you are a calamity child! Well, so am I. But our accounts do
not harmonize. You are going out into the world and misery, and it was
I who drove you to it. Even did I not love you as I do, that thought
would follow me forever and embitter my entire life. But, be it so. We
are both children of misery! Therefore let us grit our teeth, shake
each other by the hand--and say farewell!
Marie.
[_Softly_.] Good-bye, Georgie dear--and--don't be afraid--he is not yet
coming--and forgive me--do you hear? From to-day--you understand? Did I
not love you as much as I do, this would not have been quite so hard;
but there--there--'tis all right now--I know; I can never be entirely
poor now; for once, at least, the fires of St. John have burned for
me--once--just once----
George.