THE OFFICER. I am longing, but it is so hard to find one's way out.
THE DAUGHTER. But it is a duty to seek freedom in the light.
THE OFFICER. Duty? Life has never recognised any duties toward me.
THE DAUGHTER. You feel yourself wronged by life?
THE OFFICER. Yes, it has been unjust——
Now voices are heard from behind a 'partition, which a moment later is pulled away. THE OFFICER and THE DAUGHTER look in that direction and stop as if paralysed in the midst of a gesture.
At a table sits THE MOTHER, looking very sick. In front of her a tallow candle is burning, and every little while she trims it with, a pair of snuffers. The table is piled with new-made shirts, and these she is marking with a quill and ink. To the left stands a brown-coloured wardrobe.
THE FATHER. [Holds out a silk mantilla toward THE MOTHER and says gently] You don't want it?
THE MOTHER. A silk mantilla for me, my dear—of what use would that be when I am going to die shortly?
THE FATHER. Do you believe what the doctor says?
THE MOTHER. Yes, I believe also what he says, but still more what the voice says in here.