Mother and Son
graph on the table. She clasps it to her heart and kisses it.) My son! My beautiful boy!
(She takes up his books and covers them with kisses. As she does so her glance falls, quite by accident, upon the portrait of her husband. She trembles, but controls herself with a great effort and speaks up to it with a measure of defiance and with a fine anger.)
Malkele
Why do you look so angry? He is my son! My pride! I am as proud of his books as I was of your sacred works! You hear! Just as proud as I was of your sacred books! (Suddenly conscious of her sacrilegious utterings—she covers her face with her hands and moans.) What a sinner I am!
Curtain
47
