head.) Oh, well, I’ll manage somehow—(Hesitates and looks around.) Say, Ládo, you have some books haven’t you?
Hlaváček (With quick willingness).—You want to read something? With great pleasure! I’ve thrown all the books into the trunk, I’d have to go hunt them
Dušek.—Have you—Daudet’s “Sappho?”
Hlaváček.—Why, you’ve read that already.
Dušek.—What of it, I want to read it again. Lend it to me, please.
Hlaváček.—Right away?
Dušek (Quickly).—I’d rather have it at once.
Hlaváček.—Well, come on then, we’ll find it. (Goes into the bedroom.)
Dušek (Goes after him but pauses on the threshold).—But don’t be angry.
Hlaváček (Behind the scenes).—Don’t mention it!
Dušek (Glances into the bedroom, then quickly walks away from the door, steps to the table and having pulled out the drawer takes the revolver, quickly thrusts it into his lower pocket and with a bound is back at the threshold of the bedroom. Excitedly he asks).—Have you found it?
Hlaváček (Behind the scenes).—Wait, wait—aha, here it is! (The trunk-lid is heard to fall behind the scenes.)
Dušek.—Good, thank you!
Hlaváček (Enters wiping the dust from the book on his trouser leg).—Here is “Sappho”—and come and get something else when you’re through reading it. At least bury yourself in books if you don’t yet feel like painting.
Dušek (Takes the book. His voice suddenly becomes softened and gentle).—And there’s something else, Ládo, don’t be angry with me—I often did you injustice, didn’t I? You know, last summer
Hlaváček (Pressing Dušek’s hand).—Eh, don’t even speak of it! Am I made of butter?
Dušek.—But I must say it. Well, then—thank you!
Hlaváček.—What for?
Dušek.—Oh, well, for—all sorts of things. (Stands at the window.) Look the sun has gone down. Prague is certainly beautiful! (Breathes deeply and places his hand on his forehead.) Oh, Lord, Lord! How many times I’ve gazed from here on lovely Prague, on the river and on Castle Hradčany! (A pause.) That isn’t the truth even, any more! (Sighs deeply. Suddenly
