Oh, Norbert!
Norbert.
Is she really worse?
Ellen.
No, she is just the same as usual. But at night--oh, Norbert, she's never in bed. All night she wanders, wanders. When I hear her coming, I lie quite still. If she knew I was awake she might not come any more. She never touches me, but just bends over and strokes my pillow, oh, so softly! And she breathes so hard, as if it hurt her--and then gradually she grows quiet again. When you see her in the daytime, so gay and dear and busy, so full of other people's pleasures, you'd never guess the misery she endures. Oh, Norbert, you do love her, don't you?
Norbert.
I believe I love her better than my own mother.
Ellen.
No, no, Norbert, that's wicked. You mustn't say that.
Norbert.