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Allmers.
[Slowly, looking fixedly at her.] There must always be a dead wall between us two, from this time forth.
Rita.
Why must there?
Allmers.
Who knows but that a child's great, open eyes are watching us day and night.
Rita.
[Softly, shuddering.] Alfred—how terrible to think of!
Allmers.
Our love has been like a consuming fire. Now it must be quenched
Rita.
[With a movement towards him.] Quenched!
Allmers.
[Hardly.] It is quenched—in one of us.
Rita.
[As if petrified.] And you dare say that to me!
Allmers.
[More gently.] It is dead, Rita. But in what I now feel for you—in our common guilt and need of atonement—I seem to foresee a sort of resurrection
