MRS. FLAMM
If things are that way? How? I don't understand you! You might well speak a bit more clearly.—In the first place, I'm a woman myself, an' it won't astonish me. An' then—I've been a mother myself, even if I have no children now. Lass, who knows what's wrong with you? I've been watchin' you for weeks an' weeks; maybe you didn't notice anything, but now I want you to come out with the truth.—Wheel me over to that chest o' drawers. [ROSE obeys her.] So! Here in these drawers are old things—a child's clothes an' toys. They were Kurt's … Your mother said to me once: My Rose, she'll be a mother o' children! But her blood is a bit too hot!—I don't know. Maybe she was right. [She takes a large doll from one of the drawers.] Do you see? Things may go as they want to in this world, but a mother is not to be despised.—You and Kurt used to play with this doll. 'Twas you mainly that took care o' her, washed her, fed her, gave her clean linen, an' once—Flamm happened to come up—you put her to your breast.—You brought those flowers this morning, didn't you? The forget-me-nots in the little dish yonder? An' you put flowers on Kurt's grave o' Sunday. Children an' graves—they're women's care. [She has taken a little child's linen shift from the drawer, she unfolds it, holding it by the sleeves, and speaks from behind it.] Didn't you, Rosie? An' I thank you for it, too. Your father, you see, he's busy with his missionary meetin's an' his Bible lessons an' such things. All people are sinners here, says he, an' he wants to make angels of 'em. It may be that he's right, but I don't understand those things. I've learned one thing in this world, an' that is what it is to be a mother an' how a mother is blessed with sorrows.
ROSE overwhelmed and moaning has sunk down beside MRS. FLAMM and kisses the latter's hands again and again in gratitude and as a sign of confession.
MRS. FLAMM
[Shows by a sudden gleam in her eyes that she understands the truth and has received the confession. But she continues to speak quietly.] You see, lass, that's what I've learned. I've learned that one thing which the world has forgotten. I don't know very much about anything else. As much as most people, maybe, an' that's not any real knowledge. [She lays down the child's shift carefully on her lap.] Well, now you go home an' be of good courage! I'll be thinkin' things over for you. 'Tis well so far. I'll ask you no more just now. You're different now … all's different. An' I'll be doubly careful. I don't want to know anything, but I want you to depend on me. Little I care, anyhow, who the father is—if 'tis a councillor or a beggar. It's we who have to bring the children into the world, an' no one can help us there. Three things you must think about—how about your father, and about August … an' something more. But I have time enough! I'll think it all over an' I'll feel that I'm still good for something in this world.
ROSE
[Has arisen and passed again into a state of moral numbness.] No, no, Mrs. Flamm, don't do that! You can't! Don't take no interest in me! I've not deserved it of him nor of no one! I know that! I've got to fight it through—alone! There's no help in others for me; it's … no, I can't tell you no clearer!… You're as good to me as an angel! Dear God, you're much too good! But it's no use! I can't take your help. Good-bye….
MRS. FLAMM
Wait a little! I can't let you go this way. Who knows what you may be doin'?