ACT III
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.)