Brauer.
Come here, my child. Those hairy hands once christened you, and at your confirmation the same shriveled hands were laid upon your head and invoked for you the blessings of heaven; and would you, after all that, refuse to hold them in your own warm young hands? My daughter, I do not wish to hear that again. [Kisses her.]
Marie.
[Slowly has approached George. Softly, aside to him.] You will do as I ask?
Brauer.
And now, leave us.
[Marie and Gertrude exit.]
"Now, then, comes your turn," says the stork to the worm.
George.
[Looking after the girls, turns.] I suppose so, but take a care, uncle, I am not so easily digested.