MASTER. What do you mean?
CONSUL. In leaving you, she killed your honour.
MASTER. Then I have been a dead man for five years without knowing it.
CONSUL. You haven't known it?
MASTER. No, but now I'll tell you in a few words what really happened. When, at fifty, I married a girl much younger than myself—one whose heart I had won and who gave me her hand fearlessly and willingly—then I promised her that if ever my age should become a burden to her youth I would go my own way and give her back her freedom. Since the child had come in due time, and neither one of us wanted another, and since our little girl had begun to grow apart from me, so that I had come to feel superfluous, I did go my way—that is, I took a boat, as we were living on an island—and that was the end of the whole story. I had redeemed my promise and saved my honour—what more besides?
CONSUL. All right—but she thought it an attack on her own honour, because she had meant to go away herself. And so she killed you by tacit accusations which never reached your ears.
MASTER. Did she accuse herself also?
CONSUL. No, she had no reason to do so.
MASTER. Then no harm has been done.
CONSUL. Do you know what has become of her and the child since then?