CURT. Then he loves you.
ALICE. Probably. But that does not prevent him from hating me.
CURT. [As if to himself] It is called love-hatred, and it hails from the pit!—Does he like you to play for him?
ALICE. Yes, but only horrid melodies—for instance, that awful "The Entry of the Boyars." When he hears it he loses his head and wants to dance.
CURT. Does he dance?
ALICE. Oh, he is very funny at times.
CURT. One thing—pardon me for asking. Where are the children?
ALICE. Perhaps you don't know that two of them are dead?
CURT. So you have had that to face also?
ALICE. What is there I have not faced?