Lena).—There is where you can be of service. (Having sent all out, he takes up the pistol.) So? (He stands over Burris, then with a sob takes the cross for distinguished service off the wall and pins it on him.)
Forgive Burris, our score is even now.
(Through the open door enter two officers accompanied by the steward. They enter, but remain near the threshold.)
Rudolph (To officers).—Unser Gegner, meine Herren!
(Both salute and step in. Finally Erna, clad in her night robes, her hair down, plainly in delirium, staggers in.)
Curtain
CARTHAGE
This is not Carthage, these are but her stones
That rise above the circle of the sea.
What men call Troy and Carthage could not be
A desolation and forgotten bones,
For these live on like some immortal word
Told in a legend we cannot forget
Of queens who loved, of those whose battles yet
Stir us with dreams of what we have not heard.
This is not Carthage, though her ancient name
Lingers about the broken citadel.
Dust in the red tombs are the ones who fell
When what was beauty passed away in flame.
And yet, perchance, upon some greater hill
The wonder that was Carthage rises still. . .
