STRANGER. Then what are we to do?
LADY. I don't know.
STRANGER. No, one knows nothing, hardly even that one knows nothing; and that's why, you see, I've got as far as to believe.
LADY. How do you know you can believe, if belief's a gift?
STRANGER. You can receive a gift, if you ask for it.
LADY. Oh yes, if you ask; but I've never been able to beg.
STRANGER. I've had to learn to. Why can't you?
LADY. Because one has to demean oneself first.
STRANGER. Life does that for one very well.
LADY. Mizzi, Mizzi, Mizzi!... (She has taken a shawl she was carrying over her arm, rolled it up and put it on her knee like a baby in long clothes.) Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Think of it! I can see her here! She's smiling at me; but she's dressed in black; she seems to be in mourning too! How stupid I am! Her mother's in mourning! She's got two teeth down below, and they're white—milk teeth; she should never have cut any others. Oh, can't you see her, when I can? It's no vision. It is her!