Pierre.

I beg your pardon, Herr Wittich. I certainly don't want to offend you.

But--as Julia and I have found so much in each other--haven't we, Julia, dear?

Julia.

Yes--so very, very much, Pierre, dear.--And to know that we were so near--and yet could never see each other or talk together, or-- I, for my part, couldn't endure it, could you, Pierre?

Pierre.

Oh--as for that--well, it would be hard, Julia, dear.

Julia.

And what would the world say, dear George, if we should suddenly--and apparently without any cause--break off all communication with our neighbors? How would Pierre explain it to his mother? Why, he simply couldn't! No; if we are to carry out your plan, then everything must remain outwardly the same as before. Don't you agree with me, Pierre, dear?

Pierre.

(_Hesitating, with an apprehensive glance toward_ Wittich.) Outwardly--yes, Julia, dear.

Wittich (_losing control of himself_).

So that's your condition, is it?

Julia (_with a sort of nervous impudence_).

Yes, that's our condition--isn't it, Pierre, dear? (Pierre _does not reply, but looks at_ Wittich.)

Wittich.

Really?--Really!--Very well! (_He draws himself to his full height, his face flushes, and he looks around the room wildly, as if searching for something._)

Julia.

What are you looking for, George?

Wittich.

If you-- (_Gasps as if suffocating._)

Julia.

George! George! What's the matter?

Wittich.

There--there--there! (_With a loud cry, he falls upon the weapons and s.n.a.t.c.hes one of the daggers._)

Julia.

Help! Help! Pierre! Save me!

Pierre (_at the same time_).

Help! Help! (_He pushes open the door and escapes, screaming_. Julia _rushes out through the door at the left_. Wittich _dashes after her. A piercing shriek is heard. After a short pause_, Julia _appears at the large door in the centre. She tries to go further, fails, supports herself against the door posts for an instant, and then reels into the room. She attempts to lean against the small table in the centre, but falls to the floor, dying. As she falls the small table is upset, burying her beneath a shower of roses._

_Through the doorway at the left_, Wittich _is heard, sobbing and groaning. In the distance_ Pierre _is shouting for help. The sound of many voices, growing louder as the curtain falls._)

II

MARGOT

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

CHARACTERS

Herr Ebeling, a lawyer.

Frau von Yburg.

Margot, her daughter.

Doctor von Tietz.

Bonath, a secretary.

A Servant.

The Present Day

The scene is laid in a large German city.

MARGOT

_The richly furnished office of a prosperous lawyer. Pictures, bronzes, carved furniture, costly hangings. In the foreground, on the left, a window; turned toward it, a writing-table with a writing-chair behind.

Near the window, a leather arm-chair. At the narrow side of the table, in the foreground, a low seat. On the right, a sofa, table, and chairs.

In the background, a door which, when opened, reveals the clerks working at long tables. To the right, back, another door. The backward projection of the writing-table forms a revolving-stand for reference books. On the writing-table, among doc.u.ments and writing materials, are photographs in standing frames and a slender vase filled with dark red roses._

_It is winter, about six o'clock in the evening. The lamps are lighted._

Ebeling _is seated in the writing-chair. He is a man of about forty, attractive, winning in manner, his clothes betokening wealth and refinement; he wears a short, dark beard, and his hair is slightly gray at the temples_. Von Tietz, _sitting opposite him in the arm-chair, is about thirty, very smartly dressed--in appearance a type of the ordinary drawing-room devotee._