Aunt Clara. And I am to blame for all.
Paul. You? Why?
Aunt Clara. I got you into it! No one else!
Paul (is forced to smile). Innocent creature! Individuals quite apart from you got me into it. It has taken a whole lifetime to bring it about! You are as little to blame for that as you are for the fall of Adam and the existence of the world and the fact that some day we shall all have to die!
Aunt Clara (with her apron before her face). I told you about Antoinette! For she is at the bottom of it! I'll stake my head on that!
Paul. Don't torture me, Aunt Clara!
Aunt Clara. She is at the bottom of it! And I, in my stupidity, cap the climax by leaving the two of you alone at the funeral day before yesterday.
Paul. I shall be grateful to you for that all of my life, Aunt Clara!
Aunt Clara. My notion was for you to have a little talk together, and then to think what it has led to! May God forgive what I have done.
Paul (partly to himself). She promised me to come. And she is not coming! She promised me to write. And she does not write. Not a word. Not the remotest token! How do I know, but everything was a delusion? Childish fancy and nothing more? The intoxication of a moment which seized her and vanished again when she sat in her sleigh and rode away in the winter night? Do I know? (He puts his hand to his head.)