Paul (smiling). Or aren't the guest-rooms upstairs any more?
Aunt Clara (reproachfully). Why, my boy, we should certainly not think of changing the rooms around. They are very satisfactory and then they've been there so long.
Paul (as before). Why, of course. They have been there so long!
Glyszinski. Shall we go?
Aunt Clara (places her hand on Paul's shoulder). You will find, Paul, everything here is pretty much as of old. Just make yourself comfortable! I shall be back directly. (To Glyszinski. ) Please, will you come this way? (She points toward the outside. The two go out. The door is closed behind them.)
Paul (who, until now, has not faced the hall, remains standing in astonishment). Well, the chandelier in full splendor. (Meditating.) The old chandelier. Heavens, how sacred it was to me when I was a boy. It was fine of Aunt Clara to light the chandelier.
Hella (meanwhile has slowly walked through the hall, scrutinizing various things, sits down on the arm of a chair near the sofa, still wearing her cloak and toque and keeping her muff in her hand as if she were on the point of departing again at once. She smiles a trifle sarcastically). Yes, for a bright morning, the chandelier suggests this, that and what not.
Paul (fixing his eyes upon her calmly). To me the morning seemed pretty dark, as we were riding along. Didn't it to you?
Hella. Oh yes, you are right. It was even disagreeably dark. I kept on fearing we should fall into the ditch. I don't like to ride in a strange region by night.
[Brief silence.]