CURT. I also have that impression of his being already on the other side. His face seems to phosphoresce, as if he were in a state of decay—and his eyes flash like will-o'-the-wisps over graves or morasses—Here he comes! Tell him you thought it possible he might be jealous.
ALICE. No, he is too self-conceited. "Show me the man of whom I need to be jealous!" Those are his own words.
CURT. So much the better, for even his faults carry with them a certain merit—Shall I get up and meet him anyhow?
ALICE. No, be impolite, or he will think you false. And if he begins to lie, pretend to believe him. I know perfectly how to translate his lies, and get always at the truth with the help of my dictionary. I foresee something dreadful—but, Curt, don't lose your self-control! My own advantage in our long struggle has been that I was always sober, and for that reason in full control of myself. He was always tripped by his whiskey—Now we shall see!
CAPTAIN. [In from the left in full uniform, with helmet, cloak, and white gloves. Calm, dignified, but pale and hollow-eyed. Moves forward with a tottering step and sinks down, his helmet and cloak still on, in a chair at the right of the stage, far from CURT and ALICE] Good day. Pardon me for sitting down like this, but I feel a little tired.
ALICE and CURT. Good day. Welcome home.
ALICE. How are you feeling?
CAPTAIN. Splendid! Only a little tired——
ALICE. What news from the city?
CAPTAIN. Oh, a little of everything. I saw the doctor, among other things, and he said it was nothing at all—that I might live twenty years, if I took care of myself.