It was I that drove you to the turn-table—blind as I then was—I, who placed the dead clay-image above the happiness of life—of love.
Irene.
[Looking down.] Too late—too late!
Professor Rubek.
Not by a hairsbreadth has all that has passed in the interval lowered you in my eyes.
Irene.
[With head erect.] Nor in my own!
Professor Rubek.
Well, what then! Then we are free—and there is still time for us to live our life, Irene.
Irene.