That is--! (_Aside to_ Julia.) Don't be a fool!
You shall never hear a word of reproach from my lips, Julia, dear.
But--if I should actually accept--we never could go on as we did before, you know. I must be free to do exactly as I please--to go away--come back--just as I like. There is such a thing as the sovereignty of the individuality, my dear George--you can't deny that.
You shall have your own way as far as it lies in my power, Julia, dear.
And then, you must try to bring a little more--more beauty into our life.--I surely have the right to demand that. Just look about you here. You know how passionately fond of roses I am. My soul demands something besides--potatoes! Well, I insist upon having roses around me. That's not unreasonable, is it?
You shall have roses enough to smother you.
Well, then, Julia, dear, I see no reason why we should not accept this proposition.
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?
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?
Oh--as for that--well, it would be hard, Julia, dear.
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?
(_Hesitating, with an apprehensive glance toward_ Wittich.) Outwardly--yes, Julia, dear.
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.)
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._)
There--there--there! (_With a loud cry, he falls upon the weapons and snatches one of the daggers._)
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._