Irene.
I will make a pilgrimage to the place where my soul and my child's soul lie buried.
Professor Rubek.
[Uneasy and alarmed.] You must never see that statue again! Do you hear, Irene! I implore you—! Never, never see it again!
Irene.
Perhaps you think it would mean death to me a second time?
Professor Rubek.
[Clenching his hands together.] Oh, I don't know what I think.—But how could I ever imagine that you would fix your mind so immovably on that statue? You, who went away from me—before it was completed.
Irene.
It was completed. That was why I could go away from you—and leave you alone.
Professor Rubek.
[Sits with his elbows upon his knees rocking his head from side to side, with his hands before his eyes.] It was not what it afterwards became.
Irene.
[Quietly but quick as lightning, half-unsheathes a narrow-bladed sharp knife which she carries in her breast, and asks in a hoarse whis-
