Rebecca. Yes, innocence—which is at the root of all joy and happiness. That was the teaching, you know, that you wanted to see realised by all the men you were going to raise up to nobility and happiness.
Rosmer. Ah, do not remind me of that. It was nothing but a half-dreamt dream, Rebecca—a rash suggestion that I have no longer any faith in. Human nature cannot be ennobled by outside influences, believe me.
Rebecca (gently). Not by a tranquil love, do you think?
Rosmer (thoughtfully). Yes, that would be a splendid thing—almost the most glorious thing in life, I think if it were so. (Moves restlessly.) But how am I ever to clear up the question?—how am I to get to the bottom of it?
Rebecca. Do you not believe in me, John?
Rosmer. Ah, Rebecca, how can I believe you entirely—you whose life here has been nothing but continual concealment and secrecy!—And now you have this new tale to tell. If it is cloaking some design of yours, tell me so—openly. Perhaps there is something or other that you hope to gain by that means? I will gladly do anything that I can for you.
Rebecca (wringing her hands). Oh, this killing doubt! John, John—!
Rosmer. Yes, I know, dear—it is horrible—but I cannot help it. I shall never be able to free myself from it—never be able to feel certain that your love for me is genuine and pure.
Rebecca. But is there nothing in your own heart that bears witness to the transformation that has taken place in me—and taken place through your influence, and yours alone!
Rosmer. Ah, my dear, I do not believe any longer in my power to transform people. I have no belief in myself left at all. I do not believe either in myself or in you.