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Allmers.
Well?
Asta.
—that I have no right to bear your father's name.
Allmers.
[Staggering backwards.] Asta! What is this you say!
Asta.
Read the letters. Then you will see—and understand. And perhaps have some forgiveness—for mother, too.
Allmers.
[Clutching at his forehead.] I cannot grasp this—I cannot realise the thought. You, Asta—you are not
Asta.
You are not my brother, Alfred.
Allmers.
[Quickly, half defiantly, looking at her.] Well, but what difference does that really make in our relation? Practically none at all.
Asta.
[Shaking her head.] It makes all the difference, Alfred. Our relation is not that of brother and sister.
Allmers.
No, no. But it is none the less sacred for that—it will always be equally sacred.
