Robert. You are playing with me.
Leonore. You are right, my friend. And I must not do it. It would look like coquetry, although it is nothing but the joy of seeing you again. You have shown me plainly enough that the dream of our childhood is over.
Robert. It must be. Your father lifted me out of the gutter in a moment of overflowing generosity. Everything that I think and know and feel I must thank him for. And for that very reason I have lost the right of independent action. I am a dependent of this house, and have not the right to approach its young mistress--in any way whatever.
Leonore. Your own pride punishes your lying words!
Robert. Perhaps it is my pride that forces me to accept this position!
Leonore. And you are not willing to sacrifice a little of it for my sake?
Robert. Don't torture me! It isn't that alone! Only think what I am suffering. For the first time, this moment, when I sit opposite you, do I realize anything like a home-coming! But I would be terribly selfish if I allowed myself to admit this feeling. Back there in the alley is my family!--Father, mother, sister--and this family--is my family! Oh, I tell you things have happened back there that you in your goodness can't even imagine.
Leonore. My dear friend, one doesn't have to go to India to become estranged from one's family.
Robert. You, too?
Leonore. It is better not to speak of it. I am ashamed of myself. I am even more of an outcast than you. I have lost all sense of duty. A sort of gloomy ill-will has come over me and now it is almost arrogance--towards my own people and all the others about them--and I'm not arrogant or proud by nature! Tell me, what is it that----?