General von Buhne (lifting his glass). To a good day’s work. (She touches hers to her lips) Fräulein Rudinoff, you are superb! I do not refer to your beauty; any dog could see that. I don’t believe in praise. But as a sculptor to his statue, allow me to say that of the many secret agents I have employed, you are the most subtly efficient—cold as ice and blazing as fire.
Marya. Please, Heinrich! I don’t believe in praise either.
General. Not even when it is for myself? But you are right. Man does not become strong until he ceases to wonder at his strength.
Marya. That is your secret, I believe.
General. My secret, Marya? I do not have secrets. A secret is something guarded, kept. My mystery, perhaps, yes. That is something which the many are incapable of discovering—even when it is flaunted in their faces.
Marya. But we flaunt nothing, you and I.
General. No, we stand for everyone to see. My enemies think you are their spy, and I—know what you are.
Marya. And so, we have them at last where your iron fist can close on them.
General. Yes, I have them, thanks to you. The poor visionary fools shall not assassinate the chancellor and blow up the churches.
Marya. You know, we women are supposed to worship the poets. Well, we do, but we are fascinated and held by men like you. I loved the comrades, but—as you see——