_The same scene: in the afternoon_. Holtzmann _is waiting. Enter_
Kellinghausen _in hat and fur-lined coat_.
Kellinghausen.
Ah, Holtzmann--this is very good of you. I'm extremely obliged to you
for coming. (_Shakes hands with him_.) Sorry to have kept you waiting.
(_Takes off his hat and coat_.) Sit down--sit down.--That is,--perhaps
we'd better-- Oh, well, my wife's not likely to come in just now.--A
cigarette?
Holtzmann.
Thanks. I don't smoke.
Kellinghausen (_lighting a cigarette_).
You remember Meixner the fellow who gave us such a lot of trouble
during the elections? I believe you and he have crossed swords once or
twice in public; and didn't you tell me that you knew him personally?
When was it that you ran across him?
Holtzmann.
There was only one inn in the village, and his room and mine were on
the same landing. The meeting was over at eleven, and I went to bed
soon after. About midnight in walks Meixner, as cool as you please, and
sits down on my bed. "We haven't finished that argument yet. Let's have
it out now," he said. And there he sat till six in the morning.
Kellinghausen.
(_Takes a copy of the_ "_Lengenfeld News_" _out of his pocket and
glances at it_.) Did that happen before or after the twelfth of
January?
Holtzmann.
It happened before he made that speech.
Kellinghausen (_startled_).
What? You knew----?
Holtzmann.
Why--naturally.
Kellinghausen.
Herr Holtzmann, we were in the train together for hours. We drove
together for miles. I have always treated you as a friend. Why did you
never speak of this? (Holtzmann _remains silent_.) Let me tell you one
thing: you can't put me off with a shrug. If you think you can, you
don't know me.
Holtzmann.
I beg your pardon, Count Kellinghausen--but I must remind you that I am
not in your service.
Kellinghausen.
My dear Herr Holtzmann, you are known as one of the most zealous
supporters of our party. Probably you attach some importance to that
fact. Your silence in this matter surprises me, and I shall not fail to
draw my own conclusions.
Holtzmann (_rising_).
You must draw what conclusions you please, sir. Personally I have
nothing to gain by serving your party. I might have a living at any
moment, and if I have preferred, for the present, to devote myself to
politics, it was only because I thought I could be of use to the cause.
Kellinghausen (_after a pause_).
I have offended you. You must make allowances for my excitement--this
business has unnerved me. (_Holds out his hand_.) Sit down again and
let me ask you a question. Has this Meixner any recognised standing in
his party, or is he merely a hanger-on?
Holtzmann.
He must have a certain standing, since he is their candidate for the
next election.
Kellinghausen.
Ha! ha! A nice lot they are! Well, the gentleman has given us his
measure by sending copies of this paper to the wives of the men he
attacks.
Holtzmann.
If he has done that, sir, can you guess his reasons?
Kellinghausen.
No. Can you?
Holtzmann.
Perhaps----
Kellinghausen.
Well----?
Holtzmann.
I'm sorry, sir--but I can't say anything more just now.
Kellinghausen (_rising_).
Good-day, then, Herr Holtzmann.
Holtzmann.
My respects to you, sir. (_Goes out_.)
Kellinghausen (_giving way to his rage_).
Hounds! Brigands! Damn them! All tarred with the same brush----
Beata _enters_.
Beata (_quietly_).
Flying into a passion won't mend matters, Michael.
Kellinghausen.
And I can't make you out, either. Here they are, throwing mud
at us--calling you I won't say what--and you stand there
like--like--Haven't you got any blood in your veins? Don't you realise
what it all means?
Beata.
I haven't much strength to spare, and I have to economise my emotions.
Kellinghausen.
Good God--how white you are! Don't mind me--I'll pull myself together.
We won't talk of the damned thing any more.
Beata.
It will be the first time in twenty years that we haven't talked over
what you had on your mind.
Kellinghausen.
I wish to heaven I'd never told you of it. The devil take Leonie! She
can't hold her cursed meddling tongue; Richard ought to muzzle her. By
the way, it's strange he hasn't shown himself to-day.
Beata.
I have had a note from him. He asked me to tell you that he is deep in
his speech. He is coming as soon as he has a moment to spare.
Kellinghausen.
There you are again! Just when the man needs a clear head for the great
work that's before him, he finds himself involved in this filthy-- Ah,
well, I'll have the dogs by the throat yet! I'll have them howling for
mercy!
Beata.
Do calm yourself, Michael. Look--your face is all on fire. You know
it's bad for you to excite yourself.
Kellinghausen.
There, there--I'm quiet again. Don't I always do what you tell me? Ah,
if I hadn't had _you_ all these years, the Lord knows what would have
become of me!
Beata.
Then, on the whole, I've been--satisfactory?
Kellinghausen (_laughing_).
That sounds as if you were asking for a reference.
Beata.
Perhaps I am. I want to have one to show in case of need.
Kellinghausen.
And when do you expect to need it?
Beata.
Who knows?
_Enter_ Conrad.
Conrad (_announcing_).
Baron Brachtmann.
Kellinghausen (_to_ Beata).
Do you wish to see him?
Beata.
Yes.
_Enter_ Brachtmann. Conrad _goes out_.
Brachtmann.
(_Bows to_ Kellinghausen _and kisses_ Beata's _hand_.) I am sorry we
were not on our guard yesterday, Countess. Even if you had to know of
this stupid business, you needn't have heard of it till it had blown
over.
Beata.
Don't reproach yourself, Baron. I should have been sorry to miss such a
chance of enlarging my knowledge of human nature.
Brachtmann.
Well, at all events, I beg of you both not to take it too seriously.
And as for you, my dear Kellinghausen, I say again as I've said before:
for God's sake, keep out of the courts.
Kellinghausen.
Ah----?
Brachtmann.
Why, my dear man, haven't I been accused of arson and forgery? Haven't
I been charged with bribing my constituents to perjure themselves--not
to speak of my dodging my taxes, and other sleight-of-hand
performances? That's merely the political way of poking fun.
Kellinghausen.
H'm--your digestion must be stronger than mine. But those charges
concerned no one but yourself; if I stood alone in this business, I
might see the humour of it. But let them beware how they attack my
family! Besides, I've taken steps already----
Brachtmann.
What have you done?
Kellinghausen.
I got hold of my counsel this morning. He has made out a retraction
which the scoundrel is to sign. If he won't sign it, we'll take other
means. He is to be at my lawyer's at three o'clock.
Beata (_starting up_).
What? To-day?
Kellinghausen.
To-day. The sooner the better. By the way, what time is it? I must be
on hand myself. Brachtmann, will you come with me?
Brachtmann.
I was going to propose it. (_While_ Kellinghausen _puts on his coat, he
turns to_ Beata.) If you have any influence over him, for heaven's
sake----
Beata (_in a low voice_).
I can do nothing.
Kellinghausen.
Well, dear, good-bye. If Richard turns up, be sure you make him wait. I
shall be back in an hour. (Kellinghausen _and_ Brachtmann _go out_.)
Beata.
(_Closing her eyes, with a miserable smile_.) In an hour!
_Enter_ Ellen.
Ellen (_in the doorway_).
Mother!
Beata.
Come in, dear child.
Ellen (_kneeling down beside her_).
Mother, mother dear, what has happened? What is it? Papa is so excited
and talks to himself so strangely--and you--oh, mother!
Beata (_smiling_).
Well what have I done?
Ellen.
If I tell you, you won't--won't stay away? You'll come and lean over my
bed every night--just as you've always done?
Beata (_surprised_).
Then you're awake--when I come?
Ellen.
Always, always. I never go to sleep till I've heard you.
Beata.
Dearest! And yet you never stirred!
Ellen.
Oh, I prided myself on that! But last night it was so hard to keep
quiet. I could feel your tears on my face--oh, how you were crying! And
I did so want to cry with you. But I held my breath and lay as still as
I could.--Mother, what has happened? Won't you tell me? I'm not a child
any longer.
Beata.
Listen, dear. I want to ask you a question. Is there any one in the
world--besides your father and me--that you're very fond of?
Ellen (_softly_).
You know, mother. I don't have to tell you things----
Beata.
Some one you're so fond of that you could live for him--or even die for
him?
Ellen.
There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do for him!
Beata.
(_Softly stroking her hair and cheeks_.) H'm----
_Enter_ Conrad.
Conrad (_announcing_).
Dr. Kahlenberg.
Beata (_to Ellen_).
Go, dear. That is all I wanted to know.
Ellen.
Mother! (_Goes out_.)
_Enter_ Dr. Kahlenberg. Conrad _goes out_.
Dr. Kahlenberg.
You sent for me, Countess? Nothing wrong, I hope?
Beata.
Why, this is your hour for consultations, isn't it?
Dr. Kahlenberg.
Oh, there was no one there but two or three whining women. The kind
that can be cured by the atmosphere of a fashionable doctor's
waiting-room; so I'm letting them wait.
Beata.
(_Listening, as though to make sure that they are alone_.) I sha'n't
keep you long. Doctor you know how often I have said to you: "My dear
friend, I've got to live--I've simply got to live; show me how--" and
how you've always answered: "The only way is to avoid excitement."
Well--I've borne that in mind--I've schooled myself to look at life
through a tombstone, as it were--my own tombstone, doctor! I've done
that. But now--now there are storms ahead, perhaps disasters. If they
come, my judgment and energy are equal to them--but my valves are not.
I found that out last night--it was only those drops of yours that
saved me. But I can't live on those drops--you've warned me not to take
them too often. And I don't want to die of this. Doctor, you must help
me!
Dr. Kahlenberg.
Why, what's the meaning of all this? H'm. You're right. Strophanthus
and digitalis are not meant for human nature's daily food. Besides, the
effect might wear off.--My dear Countess, take your courage in both
hands and run away. Turn your back on all these emotions. Human life is
simply a process of molecular adjustment complicated by moral
idiosyncrasies.
Beata (_laughing_).
I'm so glad to know it, doctor. (_Growing serious_.) But there is no
time to run away. The storm may break in an hour.
Dr. Kahlenberg.
Child, what has happened? Ah, well, I never ask questions.--In an
hour?--I am going home to despatch my whining women, and then I'll drop
in again and see what has happened in the interval.
Beata.
And if to-day is only the prelude?
Dr. Kahlenberg.
So much the better. Then we shall have time to look the thing in the
face. Meanwhile I'll give you something new to take--something that
your system hasn't got used to. We physicians have a supply of such
remedies to tide us over bad places.
Beata.
Thank you.
Dr. Kahlenberg.
Give me both hands, Countess. You and I know death too well to be much
afraid of it. But if you want to live I'll do my best to help you. And
now I'll go and assure my other patients that they're really ill.
Good-bye. (_He goes out. In the hall he is heard greeting_ Norbert.)
_Enter_ Norbert.
Norbert.
Aunt Beata, I'm so glad to see you looking so well. I was almost
afraid----
Beata.
It always cheers me to see you, Norbert. And to-day especially----
Norbert.
To-day?
Beata.
'Sh--to-day is a lucky day.
Norbert.
Lucky? In what way?
Beata.
Wait and see! Wait and see!
Norbert.
I say, Aunt Beata, you're not making fun of me? I don't half like the
way you're smiling to yourself.
Beata.
Well, you must make the best of it, dear boy!
Norbert.
Aunt Beata--you're _not_ the same since yesterday. I knew it all along.
What a beastly business life is! You--you--of all women!--that they
should dare attack you! The scoundrels--the miserable sneaking
scoundrels!
Beata.
Norbert, dear, you must see that this is a matter we can't discuss.
Besides, I have something else to talk to you about. Can you tell me
what time it is?
Norbert.
Half-past four.
Beata.
Will you ring for the lamps, please? Ring twice. (Norbert _rings_.) I
have only a few minutes to spare, but it won't take long to-- (Conrad
_brings in two lamps, and draws the curtains_) to tell you what
I-- (_She hesitates, constrained by_ Conrad's _presence_.) This is Miss
Mansborough's afternoon. She has probably gone out. (Conrad _leaves the
room_.) You will find Ellen alone in her sitting-room--go and look for
her--and when you find her, put your arms about her, and say to her,
"I love you, and I shall always love you, in this world and the
next"--provided there is any next!
Norbert.
Aunt Beata! (_Falls on his knees before her and hides his face in her
lap_.)
Beata (_struggling with her tears_).
And then sit down in the twilight, you and Ellen, quietly, side by
side, and talk of all the happiness that is coming to you and of all
the good you mean to do. Let it be your hour of consecration. And I
shall be with you all the while--feeling your happiness, thinking your
thoughts--all through this next hour of my life.--Now go, Norbert. I
hear some one coming--it must be your father. I will tell him--go,
dear, go.
Norbert.
Aunt Beata! (_Kisses her hand_.)
Beata.
Your hour of consecration remember that, Norbert. (Norbert _goes out_.)
_Enter_ Richard.
Richard.
What has happened? You look radiant.
Beata.
(_Taking his hand and holding it fast_.) I have settled the future of
our children. No matter what happens to us-- Why, Richard, aren't you
the least bit pleased?--Oh, how ill you look!
Richard.
What sort of a night did you have, Beata?
Beata.
Not so bad.--And how goes the speech? Are you in sight of land?
Richard.
Beata--I don't know if I shall be able to speak to-morrow.
Beata (_alarmed_).
But you must. You must. They all count on you. Dear, you _must_. Is it
because of that wretched business last night?
Richard.
Partly, I suppose. This new danger has stirred up the whole past.
Beata.
And your conscience is bothering you again?
Richard.
You call it conscience, Beata; I call it consistency. How dare I speak
on this bill, how dare I take such a stand before God and man, when my
whole life gives me the lie?--Good God!--To stand up and talk about the
sanctity of marriage--about the family life as the main support of
society--to parade such an argument before the cynics of the
Opposition, when with my own hands I have helped to tear down that very
support--no, no, I can't justify myself without adopting their own
cynical and materialistic creed. And not even then; for what I call God
they call social expediency; and this new idol of theirs is more
exacting than the Jehovah of the old dispensation. As to acknowledging
that words are one thing and actions another--that the man in me is not
accountable to the statesman--well, I haven't sunk as low as that--what
I give I must give without an afterthought.--And so all my ideas
crumble into dust, all my reasoning ends in contradiction--and I find
myself powerless to plead the very cause I have at heart!
Beata.
But why, dearest, why?
Richard.
Forgive me. I am so tired; my mind is a blank. First that dreadful
scene last night, when a moment's hesitation would have ruined us both.
Then my long night at my desk--the superhuman effort of collecting my
thoughts after all I'd been through. But as I worked, my subject took
such hold of me that I've only just waked up to the question--how on
earth is it all to end? (Beata _is silent_.) Oh, Beata, the truth, the
truth! Oh, to be at one with one's self! To have the right to
stand up openly for one's convictions! I would give everything for
it--happiness, life itself, everything!
Beata.
And yet you love life.
Richard.
I? No--not now. Now that our falsehood is closing in on us, death would
be--but don't be frightened; I shall do nothing foolish. There are two
of us, and we must hold together. I am so used to sharing every thought
with you.--What has happened since yesterday? I suppose Michael has
given up the absurd idea of prosecuting the man.
Beata.
On the contrary.
Richard.
What?
Beata.
At this moment he has probably found out whatever your former secretary
knows about us.
Richard.
What on earth do you mean?
Beata.
I haven't interrupted you, dear, because speaking seemed to clear your
thoughts. But I haven't attempted to answer you, because every minute
is precious.
Richard.
Hasn't Brachtmann been here?
Beata.
Brachtmann came too late.
Richard.
Then----?
Beata.
Even if he had come sooner he could not have prevented anything.
Dearest, Michael may come back at any moment, and when he comes we must
be ready----
Richard.
Don't go on, Beata. Let us suppose the worst: say that Meixner has
unearthed a few suspicious circumstances--what use can he make of them?
He can't produce any proofs.
Beata.
Who knows?
Richard.
Where are they to come from? The few letters we exchanged were burnt
long ago. Copies are not admitted as evidence. He will not be allowed
to testify on oath. We have only to keep ourselves in hand as well as
we did yesterday, and the whole story will fall to the ground.
Beata.
And Michael?
Richard.
Michael?
Beata.
Suppose he questions you?
Richard.
There can be but one answer, I think.
Beata.
In our class there is something we call a "word of honour." If he asks
you for _that_--? You don't answer.
Richard (_confused, breathing heavily_).
We haven't reached that point yet, Beata--and if he does--why, we two
are chained together by our past, we are answerable to no one but
ourselves. That is all there is left to us.
Beata.
Is that your answer? You, who tell me you have wrestled with yourself
all night because--Richard, I don't believe you!
Richard.
Believe me or not, but be sure that, whatever happens, no suspicion
shall fall on you--on either of us. And now I beg of you--let me see
Michael alone.
Beata (_smiling_).
Alone?
Richard.
I----
Beata (_still smiling_).
Hush! Do you hear his latch-key?
Richard.
Beata, I implore you. You are not fit to bear what is coming! If you
value your life, go----
Beata.
I value yours, and therefore I shall stay.
_Enter_ Kellinghausen.
Kellinghausen (_very gravely_).
Good-afternoon, Richard. (_Shakes hands with him_.)
Richard.
Good-afternoon, Michael.
Kellinghausen (_to_ Beata).
Has any one been here?
Beata.
Norbert--and Dr. Kahlenberg. No one else.
Kellinghausen.
Kahlenberg? At this hour? Is any one ill?
Beata.
No. He merely came to see me. Shall I give you some tea?
Kellinghausen.
Thanks, no. Richard, you don't want any either? Then, if you'll come
into my study----
Richard.
With pleasure.
Beata.
Michael, I don't understand you. You have never shut me out from your
counsels. Hitherto, if I have taken part in your discussions, it was
because you wished me to; to-day I have a right to be here.
Kellinghausen.
My dear child, don't you always have your way? If Richard doesn't
object----
Richard.
Whatever you wish----
Beata.
But first I want to give you a piece of good news. Norbert and Ellen
are engaged.
Kellinghausen (_his face lighting up_).
Ha? What? Those two children? I saw it coming, bless their hearts!--but
I'd no notion--where are they, Beata? (_Goes to door, left_.)
Richard (_in a low tone, to_ Beata).
He knows nothing.
Beata (_with an effort_).
Michael--never mind--don't speak to them now! To-morrow Norbert
will---- (_She breathes painfully_. Richard _makes a startled
movement_.)
Kellinghausen.
What is it? Are you ill?
Beata.
No--no, it's nothing. But happiness reverberates so! Norbert is coming
back to-morrow. He wishes to tell his mother first.
Kellinghausen.
Ah, that's thoughtful of him. I had forgotten about his mother. Well,
shake hands, old man. Confound it--I'm ashamed to look you in the face
with this cursed thing hanging over us. And to think how happy we three
might be--oh, that hound, that vile infamous hound!
Richard.
Tell me what happened, Michael.
Kellinghausen.
There isn't much to tell. My lawyer had a talk with him. He says his
only object is to bring out the facts.
Richard (_after a short pause_).
Well--let him bring them out.
Kellinghausen.
Let him? You should have heard Brachtmann. The man was beside himself.
He began with the old story of the Frenchman who said that if he were
accused of stealing the towers of Notre Dame he would take the first
train for the frontier. "No matter how blameless you all are, the lie
will stick to you," he said. "It will stick to you and to your children
and to your party." I had to give him my word of honour that, whatever
happens, I will do nothing to bring scandal on the party.
Richard.
But you haven't stuck to your resolve?
Kellinghausen.
How could I? We can't wring the scoundrel's neck without landing
ourselves in prison. Norbert was right yesterday. In such cases we have
no refuge left but the courts. There is more in that boy's ideas than I
was willing to admit at the time. Well--meanwhile I've agreed to think
the matter over for twenty-four hours. A mere formality, of course--and
yet not quite, after all. The fact is, I wanted to talk it out with
you.
Richard.
Very well.
Kellinghausen.
Beata--Richard--I don't need to be told that there's nothing wrong in
this house--nothing wrong between you two, to put it plainly. I can see
that for myself. But in such a dirty business the most harmless fact
may be used against you; and you won't misunderstand me if I ask
you--both-- You see, you two have always been in such close sympathy--I
don't say that to reproach you--God forbid! It was natural
enough--you're both so much cleverer than I am--but I ask you, for all
our sakes, to look back and try to remember if you've ever written each
other any letters that might--might seem--to an outsider--a little
too friendly? Good heavens! _I_ should understand it if you had!
Or--or--have you ever written anything about _me_? Anything that
might--? There are plenty of things to criticise about me. But I must
know the truth. There must not be the least pretext for this attack. I
ask you to stop and consider.
Richard.
There is nothing to consider, my dear Michael.
Kellinghausen.
Not so fast, my dear fellow! Take time. Think the matter over.
Richard.
There is nothing to think over.
Kellinghausen.
Beata----?
Beata.
My answer is the same as Richard's, of course.
Kellinghausen.
Richard, our fate is in your hands. Do you advise me to bring suit?
Richard.
Oh--if you ask my advice----
Kellinghausen.
I don't ask your advice but your assurance. I have pledged myself not
to endanger the party. Give me your word of honour that I can bring
suit without doing so.
Richard (_straightening himself_).
I give you my word of honour that--you---- (Beata _gives a suppressed
cry_.)
Kellinghausen.
What is the matter? What ails you?
Beata (_looking at_ Richard).
He will give you his word of honour, and then he will go home and blow
his brains out. Don't you see it in his face?
Kellinghausen.
What do you mean?
Richard.
Kellinghausen, ask your wife to leave the room, and I will----
Beata.
Richard, for fifteen years we have shared all our joys and sorrows. We
must share this too.
Kellinghausen.
(_Half strangled, tearing his collar open, and then throwing himself
on_ Richard.) You--you--you!
Richard (_seizing both his hands_).
Michael, take care! This must be between ourselves. Remember that.
Kellinghausen.
Yes--yes--yes; I pledged my word--I remember--I--oh, you--you---- (_He
sinks down in a chair near the table, and hides his face with tearless
sobs_.)
Beata (_approaching him after a pause_).
Dear Michael, Richard and I conquered our feelings long ago. That is
why we are so calm now. What happened between us happened years ago,
and we are ready to pay the cost, whatever it is.
Kellinghausen.
Oh, as far as he's concerned, it's simple enough. He and I can soon
settle our account.
Richard.
Yes.
Kellinghausen.
But you--you--how can you justify yourself? How have you reconciled it
to your conscience to live beside me half a lifetime with this thing
between us? Why didn't you come and ask me to set you free?
Beata.
Yes--that was what _he_ wanted--he has such a sense of honour! And to
this day he has never understood why I wouldn't. I loved him too well
to ruin his life--that's all. Even if he could have got a divorce and
married me, such a marriage would have been his ruin. I should simply
have finished the work that Leonie had begun. But what I wanted was to
save him. And so all these years I have lied for him----
Kellinghausen.
And what have you done for _me_? Or didn't I enter into your
calculations?
Beata.
Michael, you must see that we can't discuss that now. It would be
laughable if I were to try to explain to you----
Kellinghausen.
Ha! Ha! Lies and deception! Wife--friend--everything! Everything! (_To_
Richard.) Why do you stand there as if you were struck dumb? Why don't
_you_ try and whitewash yourself too?
Richard.
You said just now that our account was easy to settle.
Beata.
He sees things differently. I speak for myself. He looks at things as
you do.
Kellinghausen.
And yet----
Beata.
Wait, please! I have one word more to say, I have staked everything and
lost--it's all over for us, all three of us. If I had spoken years ago,
the same thing would have happened. You told me just now that I had
made you happy. Well, that is what my lie has done. It has made you
happy for fifteen years. Blame me for it--but don't forget it----
Kellinghausen.
And God--and retribution? Do you never think of such things? No
repentance--no remorse? Nothing? Nothing?
Richard.
Spare her, Michael. Let me answer for her. (Kellinghausen _advances
toward him with clenched fist_.)
Beata.
You have questioned _me_, Michael; let me question you. Must every
natural instinct end in remorse and repentance? Sin? I am not conscious
of sinning. I did the best that it was in me to do. I simply refused to
be crushed by your social laws. I asserted my right to live; my right
to self-preservation. Perhaps it was another way of suicide--that's no
matter. You know what my life has been--how I've had to buy it, hour by
hour and drop by drop, at the nearest chemist's--well, wretched as it
is, I've loved it too dearly to disown it now! Yes, I've loved it--I've
loved everything--everything around me--you too, Michael--ah, don't
laugh--yes, you too--even if I've--ah-- (_Her breath comes in long
gasps and she reels and clutches a chair, closing her eyes as she leans
against it. Then she opens them again_.) Which one of you will--help me
to the door? (Richard _makes a movement, and then draws back_.)
Kellinghausen.
Beata, from now on there will be no one to help you.
Beata.
Thank you. (_With an intense effort, she walks out of the room_.)
Kellinghausen (_to_ Richard).
And now----?
Richard.
Do what you like. Say what you like. Curse me--shoot me. I sha'n't
defend myself.
Kellinghausen.
You admit that one of us must die?
Richard.
No; I don't admit it; but I am at your orders.
Kellinghausen.
A duel between us is impossible----
Richard.
Impossible----
Kellinghausen.
I don't mean on account of the children. _That's_ all at an end.
Richard.
Why must it be at an end if one of us dies? But I am at your orders.
Kellinghausen.
I have pledged my word not to bring any scandal on the party. You are
under the same obligation.
Richard.
Yes.
Kellinghausen.
So that the only thing left----
Richard.
Before you go any further, let me tell you that I decline to go through
the farce of an American duel.
Kellinghausen.
You decline--? Perhaps you want to sneak out of the whole business?
Richard.
You don't believe that!
Kellinghausen.
Well--what other way is there?
Richard.
I know a way--but---- (Norbert's _voice is heard outside, speaking
with_ Conrad.)
Kellinghausen.
(_With sudden decision, opening the door_.) Norbert!
Richard (_following him_).
For God's sake, Michael--do you want to disgrace my whole house?
Kellinghausen (_opening the door_).
You shall see.--Norbert! Come in, my boy--come!
Norbert _enters_.
Norbert.
Uncle Michael, what is the matter with Aunt Beata? The doctor is with
her, and Ellen has been called----
Kellinghausen.
Nothing serious. Don't be alarmed. (_Takes his hand_.) Norbert, your
father and I were just talking of last evening. You remember that
stupid business interrupted our talk, and we never heard the end of
your argument. Let us have it now. Sit down--sit down, Richard. (_They
all seat themselves_.) There was one phrase of yours that struck me.
You said--you said--that if----
Richard.
You said that if a man of honour has injured another and is called on
to atone for it, he is the best judge of his own punishment.
Norbert (_laughing_).
Did I? Very likely--but my head is so full of other things just now
that I couldn't swear to it.
Kellinghausen.
That was not quite what I meant; but no matter. Suppose we take such a
case. If the injured person says: "One of us two must die"--what ought
the other to answer?
Norbert.
Why, Uncle Michael, I should say that depended on the nature of the
injury--doesn't it?
Richard.
Let us say, for the sake of argument, that the wrong is the gravest
that one man can do another; let us say he has seduced his friend's
wife. Has the husband a right to the other man's life?
Norbert.
Why, father--there can be but one answer to that. And if the other man
is a man of honour--though I don't see how he could be, do you?--he
would be more eager to give his life than the husband could possibly be
to take it.
Richard.
H'm. Perhaps you're right. Thank you, my boy.
Norbert.
Uncle Michael, at what time to-morrow may I see you?
Kellinghausen.
I'll send you word, Norbert.
Norbert.
Thanks. Don't make it too late, will you? Don't keep me waiting too
long. Good-bye. Good-bye, father. (_Goes out_.)
Richard.
Well--are you satisfied?
Kellinghausen.
You put the question in a way that suggests suicide. That was not----
Richard.
It is your own choice. All I ask is two days' respite. You won't refuse
it? (Kellinghausen _shrugs his shoulders_.) Good-bye. (_Goes out_.)
Curtain.