Drahomir.—Very bitter?
Stella.—As wormwood—or as is sometimes the case—with life.
Drahomir.—Then you are kind to me.
Stella.—For what sin shall I begin penitence?
Drahomir.—For lack of friendship for me.
Stella.—I was the first to appeal for friendship—in what respect am
I untrue to it?
Drahomir.—Because you share with me your joys, sports, laughter, but when a moment of sorrow comes, you keep those thorns for yourself. Pray share with me your troubles also.
Stella.—It is not egotism on my part. I do not wish to disturb your serenity.
Drahomir.—The source of my serenity does not lie in egotism either. George told me of you when I came here: "I know only how to look at her and how to pray to her; you are younger and more mirthful, try to amuse her." Therefore I brought all my good spirits and laid them at your feet. But I notice that I have bored you. I see a cloud on your face—I suspect some hidden sorrow, and being your best friend, I am ready to give my life to dispel that cloud.
Stella (softly).—You must not talk that way.