Afraid of the truth, you mean. You see it at last in all its brutal bareness. Poor little Minna! [She puts her arm around Minna with sudden tenderness.] But you need not be afraid of me, little Minna. Oh, no. The trouble with me is I want no more war. Franz is at the war. I'm half mad with dreaming they have killed him. Any moment I may hear. If you loved your man as I do mine, little Minna, you'd understand.' Well, go now, and to-morrow say good-by to your husband—of a day.
[Minna, with a frightened backward glance, runs out the door.
Arno, who has been talking in low tones to his mother, now rises.]
Arno:
Well, Mother, I haven't much time.
[She clings to his hand.]
Hedwig: [Starting.]
Arno!
Arno:
I am going, too. Get those little things for me, Mother, will you?