Richard.
(In a formal tone, with a glance at Michael.) We all beg of you, Countess----
Beata.
(Looking from one to the other with growing apprehension.) No--no--no--I'm quite--quite--on the contrary--I have a toast to propose. (Richard makes a startled gesture.) Yes--a toast of my own! But please all sit down first----
Prince.
Woman disposes!
Kellinghausen.
Beata, you are overtaxing yourself. Be careful.
Beata.
My dear friends, you all go on wishing each other a long life but which of us is really alive? Which of us really dares to live? Somewhere, far off in the distance, we catch a glimpse of life--but we hide our eyes and shrink away from it like transgressors. And that's our nearest approach to living! Do you really think you're alive--any one of you? Or do you think I am? (She springs up with an inspired look.) But I, at least--I--whose whole life is one long struggle against death--I who never sleep, who hardly breathe, who barely stand--I at least know how to laugh, how to love life and be thankful for it! (She staggers to her feet, raising her glass, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper.) And as the only living soul among you, I drink to the joy of living!