Professor Rubek.
[Sadly and earnestly.] There is something hidden behind everything you say.
Irene.
How can I help that? Every word I say is whispered into my ear.
Professor Rubek.
I believe I am the only one that can divine your meaning.
Irene.
Surely you ought to be the only one.
Professor Rubek.
[Rests his hands on the table and looks intently at her.] Some of the strings of your nature have broken.
Irene.
[Gently.] Does not that always happen when a young warm-blooded woman dies?
Professor Rubek.
Oh Irene, have done with these wild imaginings—! You are living! Living—living!
Irene.
[Rises slowly from her chair and says, quivering.] I was dead for many years. They came and bound me—laced my arms together behind my back—. Then they lowered me into a grave-
