Gustav. Just look at it. Is it like the portrait you painted? No, the features are the same, but the expression is different. But you don’t notice that, because you insist on seeing in it the picture of her which you’ve painted. Now look at this picture as a painter, without thinking of the original. What does it represent? I can see nothing but a tricked-out flirt, playing the decoy. Observe the cynical twist in the mouth, which you never managed to see. You see that her look is seeking a man quite different from you. Observe the dress is decollete, the coiffure titivated to the last degree, the sleeves finish high up-. You see?
Adolf. Yes, now I see.
Gustav. Be careful, my boy.
Adolf. Of what?
Gustav.[Gives him back the portrait.] Of her revenge. Don’t forget that by saying she was no longer attractive to men you wounded her in the one thing which she took most seriously. If you’d called her literary works twaddle she’d have laughed, and pitied your bad taste, but now —take it from me—if she hasn’t avenged herself already, it’s not her fault.
Adolf. I must be clear on that point. [He goes over to GUSTAV, and sits down in his previous place. GUSTAV approaches him.]
Gustav. Find out yourself.
Adolf. Find out myself?
Gustav. Investigate. I’ll help you, if you like.
Adolf.[After a pause.] Good. Since I’ve been condemned to death once—so be it—sooner or later it’s all the same what’s to happen.