Burris.—I have no doubt. I never pretended to be more than a humble manager of a country estate. And on the other hand I want to impress upon you that I should never have dared to aspire to the hand of a lady from the manor had she not given me to understand . . .
Lena (Interested). —What?
Burris.—That my attentions would be more than welcome.
Erna.—You could not forbear to throw this into my face, could you? You owed it to me, didn’t you? I deeply regret now that I ever showed a sign of interest in you. If I only could have foreseen! If I could only have known how I should loathe when you opened my eyes. I repeat, I deeply regret! And before you, Lena, I testify that I am horribly ashamed of the whole sordid transaction! (Her voice breaks and she covers her face with her hands.)
Burris (Falling at her feet).—Erna, forgive, forgive! I realize what brutal things I have said, but it was my state of mind. I was for the moment off my guard. Your own emotion took me off my feet. I humbly plead, not for myself, but for our happiness, our future life together, which I never represented to myself as you have. There are cases of old soldiers with bullets in their bodies living useful lives—living to a hale and hearty four score years and ten . . .
Erna (After a moment’s struggle with herself).—Listen, Karl Burris, (She gives him her hand ) you are going to have an operation.
Burris—What? Erna, would you really wish that I let them open my chest again and tempt Fate?
Erna.—That would indeed be an act of heroism far more glorious than that of Dubow. On such a token of your love for me I could look with pride.
Burris.—My love for you might make me capable of anything. But for the sake of the little one—I cannot! I cannot bear the thought that . . . there is the risk . . . he might easily be born without a father.
Erna.—Such volubility! It seems you are really glad you are a cripple.
Burris (Striding the floor with gathering emotion).—Yes, you are right! I am glad! I am sincerely happy that Fate opposed my physical condition against this vain wish of yours. Our poor child may profit by it.
Erna.— Excuses are cheap!
