Part 11 (1/2)

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._)