Hans.—Did you ever hold this particular bottle in your hand?
John.—I have held hundreds like it in my hand. Am I expected to recognize one out of that number!
Hans.—And you have no memory of what was in this one?
John.—You ask too much of me.
Hans.—Oh, not at all. You are not anxious to recognize this one.
John.—Oh, please leave me alone!
Hans.—You remember the night . . . it was at this very gate . . . I sat waiting for you to bring me word from the conference over me between my father and uncle.
John.—Why all this history, pray?
Hans.—You came to me there and pressed into my hand this bottle as a mute message from the patriarchal stems of our house. An eloquent bit of advice for me to take on the road with me.
Ann.—What is in the bottle?
Hans.—Laudanum! Not much, to be sure; but still enough to put all of us here to sleep for ever.
Ann.—For the living God!
Julia.—Ann!
Dean.—And this actually happened?
Hans.—To the letter as I report it, sir!
John.—Such prattle! Such fantastic fabrications!
Hans.—More than once has the cork been out of the vial, particularly on the Russian etapes toward Sakhalin. Today I am glad I had denied myself the refreshing potion, that I have been able to bring back to you this token of remembrance, because this moment brings me a measure of reparation for my suffering. I return the gift to you with a hearty thank you.
John (Taking the vial which Hans has placed on the table).—Permit me . . .
Hans (Stopping him).—Just a minute, no hurry! There will come a time for everything.
(Ann catches for the vial, but Julia, who has been watching Ann’s every motion, snatches it from her hands.)
Julia (Emptying the bottle into the grass).—What on earth would you do with it, Ann? A thing like that! Away with it. (She flings the bottle away.)
John.—You should not have done that, sister-in-law.
Julia.—I did it for Ann.
Dean.—I ask you, unhappy boy, whether you regard me or
