"Constance . . ."
"What is it, Ernst?"
"If there's anything . . . that I can do for you, you'll tell me, won't you? Tell me frankly. . . . It's very difficult for me, I know . . . to look after all of you . . . but, if I don't, nobody else will. . . . So tell me plainly if I can help you in any way. . . ."
"There's nothing at the moment, Ernst. . . ."
"But later on? . . ."
"Perhaps."
"Then I shall be very glad to help. You must ask me straight out."
"I will."
"Look here . . . you must be careful . . ."
"Of what?"
"Of the brother. . . . The fellow's a scoundrel. Take care, don't speak too loud: he's standing behind the door. You see, he can't reach so high."
"What do you mean?"
"He can't reach up to my poor vases. He would have to take the steps . . . and he won't do that in a hurry."
"What used he to do to the vases, Ernst?"
"Take them in his hands."
"I dare say he admired them."
"No, he used to break them . . . on purpose. He . . . he . . ."
"What, Ernst?"
"He used to throttle them. Hush! He used to wring their necks with his vile fingers."
Then he realized at length that he was saying too much and he gave a loud, kindly laugh:
"You don't believe that he used to throttle them. Well, at any rate, they're safer up there."
"At least, he can't break them."
