CURT. Can this be Judith? That maiden fair and proud and splendid?
ALICE. Oh, I know all about that! May I sit here and write a letter?
CURT. [_Puts the writing-table in order_] With pleasure.
ALICE. [_Takes off her gloves and sits down at the writing-table_] Now we'll try our hand at the art of war. I failed once when I tried to slay my dragon. But now I have mastered the trade.
CURT. Do you know that it is necessary to load before you fire?
ALICE. Yes, and with ball cartridges at that!
ALLAN _comes rushing in without noticing_ Alice _and throws himself face downward on the sofa. He is weeping convulsively into a lace handkerchief_.
ALICE. [_Watches him for a while. Then she rises and goes over to the sofa. Speaks in a tender voice_] Allan!
ALLAN _sits up disconcertedly and hides the handkerchief behind his back_.
ALICE. [_Tenderly, womanly, and with true emotion_] You should not be afraid of me, Allan--I am not dangerous to you--What is wrong? Are you sick?
ALICE. Pain--pain--as if your heart wanted to melt away. And it pulls, pulls----
ALICE. And then you wish to die--that you were already dead--and everything seems so hard. And you can only think of one thing--always the same--but if two are thinking of the same thing, then sorrow falls heavily on one of them. [Allan _forgets himself and begins to pick at the handkerchief_] That's the sickness which no one can cure. You cannot eat and you cannot drink; you want only to weep, and you weep so bitterly--especially out in the woods where nobody can see you, for at that kind of sorrow all men laugh--men who are so cruel! Dear me! What do you want of her? Nothing! You don't want to kiss her mouth, for you feel that you would die if you did. When your thoughts run to her, you feel as if death were approaching. And it is death, child--that sort of death--which brings life. But you don't understand it yet! I smell violets--it is herself. [_Steps closer to_ ALLAN _and takes the handkerchief gently away from him._] It is she, it is she everywhere, none but she! Oh, oh, oh! [ALLAN _cannot help burying his face in_ ALICE's _bosom_] Poor boy! Poor boy! Oh, how it hurts, how it hurts! [_Wipes off his tears with the handkerchief_] There, there! Cry --cry to your heart's content. There now! Then the heart grows lighter--But now, Allan, rise up and be a man, or she will not look at you--she, the cruel one, who is not cruel. Has she tormented you? With the Lieutenant? You must make friends with the Lieutenant, so that you two can talk of her. That gives a little ease also.