Lena.—Mr. Karl, for all that’s dear on earth, I beg you . . . Where are you? I am so frightened—please give me your hand. (Holds out her hand.)
Burris (Taking it).—And you are not entirely without blame in this matter either.
Lena.—I, Mr. Karl? What in God’s name have I done?
Burris——You should not have signed your consent to the loan.
Lena.—And you say that? Who placed the contracts before me? You never gave me a hint that you . . .
Burris—How could I? Was I to hand you the blanks and say, sign here, and at the same time suggest that you do not sign?
Lena.—At the same time you carried in your body a sufficient obstacle.
Burris.—Yesterday, Erna called that deceit. Today, the obstacle is no longer valid. That obstacle has been removed.
Lena.—I don’t understand.
Burris.—So the doctor didn’t tell you? This morning he took from beneath my shoulder blade that cursed Bosnian ball, and so easily that, as he puts it, it practically dropped out of its own accord into his hand. There was really no ground for their refusing my application. The fall that might have killed one less sound than I only served to show that their diagnosis was out of date. The doctor says that in a week I shall be better than ever. (Shivers with fever.)
Lena.—Is it possible? Let me see it?
Burris (As she holds out her hand, impulsively reaches for the pistol and steps in Lena’s way).—I don’t know where it is. I got rid of it forever. There is no longer any thing to stand in the way of lady Erna’s wish.
Lena.—She’ll never breathe it to you again. If you had heard her last night, it would never occur to you to dream of the possibility. I can’t imagine how or when you two can ever come together again. You ought to know . . . When Dr. Dustin heard her raving last night, he said that the only thing that was keeping her alive was her intense hatred of you.
Burris (Pacing floor).—Du Bohmischer . . . did she ever finish that phrase?
Lena.—At least a hundred times.
Burris—What did she say? Bohmischer . . . what?
Lena.—Don’t ask me to tell you; I can’t repeat it.
Burris (Pausing from his pacing).—Fate, kismet! How
