Therefore, what more can you desire? Everything on earth we possess, all that was beautiful, all the love, all--all, we gave to each other. There is nothing more to give, for either one of us. St. John's night is past, the fires are out, are dead----
George.
And what shall become of us?
Marie.
Of you? That I can't tell. Perhaps you will be happy, perhaps not; that must all rest with yourself. And I? Oh, be content. I will take care of myself. As soon as possible I shall leave this house. Not to-day, as I would like--it might create suspicion----
George.
And where will you go?
Marie.
Ah, the world is large. I shall go far, far away, where no one will ever find me. No, no, not even you, George.