Drahomir.—For God's sake, what shall I do, then?
Doctor.—Go away, but not forever, and not without telling her good-bye.
Drahomir.—Why should I add the last drop to an already overflowing cup?
Doctor.—A beautiful phrase. Can you not understand that it will hurt her good name if you should go away suddenly without taking leave of her? And she—she is ill and she may not be able to bear your departure.
Drahomir.—I do not see any remedy—
Doctor.—There is only one. Find some pretext, bid her good-bye quietly, and tell her that you will be back. Otherwise it will be a heavy blow for her strength. You must leave her hope. She must not suspect anything. Perhaps later she will become accustomed to your absence—perhaps she will forget—
Drahomir.—It will be better for her to forget.
Doctor.—I will do my best, but I shall first throw a handful of earth on your memory.
Drahomir.—What shall I do, then?
Doctor.—To find a pretext to bid her good-bye, tell every one that you are going. Then come back—and go away. Mr. Pretwic also must not know anything.