Midsummer Day in a stuffy train, stuck in among a lot of people who stare at one; waiting about at stations when one wants to fly. No, I can’t do it! I can’t do it! And then all my memories, my memories of Midsummer’s Day when I was a child, with the church decorated with flowers—birch and lilac, the midday meal at a splendidly covered table, relatives and friends, the afternoon in the park, dancing and music, flowers and games. Ah! you can run away and run away, but your memories, your repentance and your pangs of conscience follow on in the luggage van.

John. I’ll come with you, but right away, before it’s too late. Now. Immediately.

Julie. Then get ready. [She takes up the bird cage.]

John. But no luggage. In that case we’re lost.

Julie. No, no luggage, only what we can take with us in the compartment.

John. [Has taken a hat.] What have you got there then? What is it?

Julie. It’s only my little canary. I don’t want to leave it behind.

John. Come, I say! Have we got to cart along a bird cage with us? How absolutely mad! Leave the bird there!

Julie. The only thing I’m taking with me from home! The one living creature that likes me, after Diana was faithless to me! Don’t be cruel. Let me take it with me!

John. Leave it there, I tell you—and don’t talk so loud. Christine might hear us.

Julie. No, I won’t leave it behind among strangers. I’d rather you killed it.

John. Then give me the little thing; I’ll twist its neck for it.

Julie. Yes, but don’t hurt it, don’t! No, I can’t!

John. Hand it over—I’ll do the trick.

Julie. [Takes the bird out of the cage and kisses it.] Oh, my dicky bird! Must you die by the hand of your own mistress?