[Clenching his hands together.] Oh, I don't know what I think.—But how could I ever imagine that you would fix your mind so immovably on that statue? You, who went away from me—before it was completed.
It was completed. That was why I could go away from you—and leave you alone.
[Sits with his elbows upon his knees, rocking his head from side to side, with his hands before his eyes.] It was not what it afterwards became.
[Quietly but quick as lightning, half-unsheathes a narrow-bladed sharp knife which she carried in her breast, and asks in a hoarse whisper.] Arnold—have you done any evil to our child?
[Evasively.] Any evil?—How can I be sure what you would call it?
[Breathless.] Tell me at once: what have you done to the child?
I will tell you, if you will sit and listen quietly to what I say.
[Hides the knife.] I will listen as quietly as a mother can when she—
[Interrupting.] And you must not look at me while I am telling you.
[Moves to a stone behind his back.] I will sit here, behind you.—Now tell me.