HUSBAND. Not that alone—it was merely the last straw.... And now I must pack, if you'll pardon me.
[He turns his attention to the travelling-bag again.
BARONESS. If your decision is irrevocable.... won't you let me help you, as no one else is doing so?
HUSBAND. I thank you ever so much, my dear Baroness, but I am almost done.... And I shall ask you to make our leave-taking less painful by making it short.... In the midst of all trouble, your tender cares have been a sweet consolation to me, and I find it almost as painful to part from you as—[The BARONESS looks deeply moved]—from a good mother. I have read compassion in your glances, even when discretion compelled you to remain silent, and I have thought at times that your presence tended to improve my domestic happiness—as your age permitted you to say things that a younger woman would not like to hear from one of her own generation....
BARONESS. [With some hesitation] You must forgive me for saying that your wife is no longer young....
HUSBAND. In my eyes she is.
BARONESS. But not in the eyes of the world.
HUSBAND. So much the better, although, on the other hand, I find her coquetry the more disgusting the less her attractions correspond to her pretensions—and if a moment comes when they begin to laugh at her....
BARONESS. They are doing so already.
HUSBAND. Really? Poor Olga! [He looks thoughtful; then, as a single stroke of a bell is heard from the church tower outside, he pulls himself together] The clock struck. I must leave in half an hour.