ADOLPH. To whom?
GUSTAV. To four young men who formed her company. She is already developing a taste for chaste young men, just like—
ADOLPH. But there is nothing wrong in that?
GUSTAV. No more than in playing brother and sister when you are papa and mamma.
ADOLPH. So you have seen her then?
GUSTAV. Yes, I have. But you have never seen her when you didn't— I mean, when you were not present. And there's the reason, you see, why a husband can never really know his wife. Have you a portrait of her?
(Adolph takes a photograph from his pocketbook. There is a look of aroused curiosity on his face.)
GUSTAV. You were not present when this was taken?
ADOLPH. No.
GUSTAV. Look at it. Does it bear much resemblance to the portrait you painted of her? Hardly any! The features are the same, but the expression is quite different. But you don't see this, because your own picture of her creeps in between your eyes and this one. Look at it now as a painter, without giving a thought to the original. What does it represent? Nothing, so far as I can see, but an affected coquette inviting somebody to come and play with her. Do you notice this cynical line around the mouth which you are never allowed to see? Can you see that her eyes are seeking out some man who is not you? Do you observe that her dress is cut low at the neck, that her hair is done up in a different way, that her sleeve has managed to slip back from her arm? Can you see?