Ger. The doctor! Ha! ha ha!—You are a soldier, you say?
Col. G. Yes, sir.
Ger. Right. We're all soldiers—or ought to be. I will put you to your catechism. What is a soldier's first duty?
Col. G. Obedience, sir.
[GER. sits down and leans his head on his hands. COL. G. watches
him.]
Ger. Ah! obedience, is it? Then turn those women out. They will hurt you—may kill you; but you must not mind that. They burn, they blister, and they blast, for as white as they look! The hottest is the white fire. But duty, old soldier!—obedience, you know!—Ha! ha! Oh, my head! my head! I believe I am losing my senses, William. I was in a bad part of the town this morning. I went to see a place I knew long ago. It had gone to hell—but the black edges of it were left. There was a smell—and I can't get it out of me. Oh, William! William! take hold of me. Don't let them come near me. Psyche is laughing at me. I told you to throw the red cloth over her.
Col. G. My poor boy!
Ger. Don't fancy you're my father, though! I wish you were. But I cannot allow that.—Why the devil didn't you throw the red cloth over that butterfly? She's sucking the blood from my heart.
Col. G. You said the Psyche, sir! The red cloth is over the Psyche, sir. Look.
Ger. Yes. Yes. I beg your pardon. Take it off. It is too red. It will scorch her wings. It burns my brain. Take it off, I say! (COL. G. uncovers the Psyche.) There! I told you! She's laughing at me! Ungrateful child! I'm not her Cupid. Cover her up. Not the red cloth again. It's too hot, I say. I won't torture her. I am a man and I can bear it. She's a woman and she shan't bear it.