Margot.
(Does not move. Her face becomes hard and bitter.) And now that you see what sort I am----H'm, yes. Ah, well, you'll soon console yourself. There are so many others. Why should it be just I? Let me suggest one of my friends--a dear--a pretty girl--with white teeth. Why take it to heart? It hurts for the moment--but one easily forgets. Such girls as I deserve nothing better. To them--one does this! (Plucks the petals from the roses which are standing before her in the vase.) And then one throws them away--like this! (Throws the petals in his face.)
Ebeling (brushing away the petals).
What have the roses done to you, my child?
Margot.
I sent them to you. I, too, may destroy them.
Ebeling (springing up).
It was you, you who all these years----?
Margot.
Good evening, Herr Ebeling. (She goes out.)