Just then William came in, smoking a cigarette.
"Wanted to speak to you, father."
"Right you are, my boy! speak away!"
"Well, it's like this. Marie and I, we can't go on as we have been doing lately."
Holm turned quickly. "You mean to say you're going to turn over a new leaf?"
"I mean, we must get away from here. Marie's budding talent will never thrive here, and I—I shall grow stale if I don't get away soon. We want to travel."
"I see—well, travel along with you then; don't mind me."
"We want to go to Paris. Mrs. Rantzau, who is herself a distinguished artist, says it's the only thing for us, to go to Paris and complete our education. There is no hope of developing one's talents in a place like this—they simply wither and die."
"Ah, that would be a pity."
"Father, you must let us go. Don't you think yourself, you ought to make some little sacrifice for your only son?"