CHRISTINE. That's on account of suffering. Too much happiness makes everything commonplace.
ELIS. Don't you think it may be—love? Don't you think that those little—
CHRISTINE. Sh—sh—don't touch the wings of the butterfly—or it will fly away.
ELIS. They must be looking at each other, and only pretending to read. I haven't heard them turn over any pages.
CHRISTINE. Hush!
[Eleonora rises, goes on tip-toe to Benjamin and puts her shawl over his shoulders. Benjamin protests mildly but gives in to her wish—Eleonora returns to her seat and pushes the lamp over to Benjamin's side.]
CHRISTINE. She doesn't know how well she wishes. Poor little Eleonora—[Pause.]
ELIS [Rises]. Now I must return to the law papers.
CHRISTINE. Do you think anything will be gained by going over all that again?
ELIS. Only one thing. That is to keep up mother's hope. I only pretend to read—but a word now and then pricks me like a thorn in the eye. The evidence of the witnesses, the summaries—father's confession—like this: "the accused admitted with tears"—tears—tears—so many tears—and these papers with their official seals that remind one of false notes and prison bars—the ribbons and red seals—they are like the five wounds of Christus—and public opinion that will never change—the endless anguish—this is indeed fit work for Good Friday! Yesterday the sun was shining—and in our fancy we went out to the country,—Christine, think if we should have to stay here all summer.