Rita: Yes, yes—but do not talk about it any more.
Friedrich: You are right. It was boyish of me. It did not last long, and then I mourned for you—not less than your parents. Oh, Erna! If you would see your parents now. They have aged terribly. Your father has lost his humor altogether, and is giving full vent to his old passion for red wine. Your mother is always ailing, hardly ever leaves the house, and both, even though they never lose a word about it, cannot reconcile themselves to the thought that their only child left them.
Rita (after a pause, awakens from her meditation, harshly): Perhaps you were sent by my father?
Friedrich: No—why?
Rita: Then I would show you the door.
Friedrich: Erna!
Rita: A man, who ventured to pay his debts with me——
Friedrich: How so; what do you mean?
Rita: Oh—let's drop that. Times were bad. But to-day the house of Hattenbach enjoys its good old standing, as you say, and has overcome the crisis. Then your father must have had some consideration—without me. Well, then.——And Rudolstadt still stands—on the old spot. That's the main thing. But now let us talk about something else, I beg of you.