Julia (_glancing back--aside to_ Pierre).

Keep near the weapons!

Pierre (_as_ Wittich _moves_).

Hush!

Wittich.

You must forgive me--I only wanted to--look after--my--wife. (_Breaks down again._)

Pierre (_aside to_ Julia).

Why, he's quite out of his mind!

Julia.

Keep near the weapons!

Wittich.

I don't care--to settle--this matter--by means of a--so-called--affair of honour. I'm a plain man. I only know about such things from hearsay.

And any way--I don't see that they help--m-matters much. (_Breaks into tearless sobs._)

Pierre (_aside_).

He won't hurt us.

Julia (_stammering_).

I simply--don't--understand it--at all!

Pierre (_pointing to_ Wittich).

Try it! Go to him!

Julia.

He's not a bit like himself.

Pierre.

Go on! Go on!

Julia.

(_Who has timidly approached her husband, bid has drawn back at a movement of his, suddenly throws herself at his feet with great emotion._) George! George!--I am guilty!--I have sinned before G.o.d and you!--I acknowledge my crime!--My life is in your hands!--Crush me--grind me to dust!--But G.o.d knows, I only obeyed a wretched impulse.

My love for you has never left my heart.--My one desire is to die. Kill me!--Here!--Now!--But forgive me! Ah, forgive me!

Wittich (_staring straight ahead_).

Yes, they always talk like that--in books, at least.

Julia.

Forgive me!

Wittich.

There is nothing to forgive. And I am not going to kill any one. What good would it do? (Julia _sobs, hiding her face in her hands._)

Pierre.

Well, then--don't kneel there--like that--Julia, dear!

Julia.

I shall lie here until he raises me. Raise me! Take me in your arms!

Oh, George----

Wittich.

Yes, that's what they always say. (_Sinks into reverie again._)

Pierre (_aside to her_).

Hush! Stand up! (_She does so._) Well--h'm--I suppose I may a.s.sume, Herr Wittich, that you had some purpose in seeking this interview?

Wittich.

Yes--yes. (_Looking about him._) I can well imagine that my wife--er--that the lady must find it very pleasant here.

Pierre.

Oh, yes--we needn't hesitate to say that, need we, Julia, dear?

Julia (_uncertainly adopting his tone_).

No, indeed, Pierre, dear.

Wittich.

At least--she seems to have plenty of roses here.

Julia (_laughing nervously_).

Oh, yes--plenty.