Prince.—Because he alone keeps me alive. Stella would have died also with heart trouble if it had not been for him.
Drahomir.—If that is so, he is a very precious man.
Stella.—We owe him eternal gratitude.
Prince (looking at George).—He will also be necessary to Pretwic.
What, Stella, will he not?
Stella (laughing).—Papa, how can I know that?
Drahomir.—Truly, I sometimes envy those stalwart men. During the battle they strengthen in themselves the force which lessens and disappears in us, because nothing nourishes it. Perhaps we are also made of noble metal, but we are eaten up with rust while they are hardened in the battle of life. It is a sad necessity.
Czeska.—How about Mr. Pretwic?
Drahomir.—George endured much, it is true, and one feels this although it is difficult to describe it. Look at those two men. When the wind blows George resists like a century-old tree, and men like the doctor subdue it and order it to propel his boat. There is in that some greater capacity for life, therefore the result is more easy to be foreseen. The tree is older, and although still strong, the more it is bitten by the storms, the sooner it will die.
Prince.—I have said many times that we die like old trees. Some other thicket grows, but it is composed only of bushes.
Stella.—The one who is good has the right to live—we must not doubt about ourselves.