My father comes home—he finds his secretary broken open and his money stolen—then he rings the bell twice—for his servant—and then he sends for the police—and then I shall tell him everything. Everything! Oh, it’s fine to make an end of the thing—if it would only have an end. And then he gets a stroke, and dies—and that’s the end of the whole story. And then comes peace and quiet—eternal peace. And then the escutcheon is broken over the coffin: the noble race is extinct—and the servant’s brat grows up in a foundling hospital—and wins his spurs in the gutter, and finishes up in a prison. [CHRISTINE, dressed for church, enters on the right, hymn book in hand. JULIE rushes to her and falls into her arms, as though seeking protection.] Help me, Christine; help me against this man!

Christine. [Immobile and cold.] What a pretty sight for a holiday morning! [She looks at the chopping block.] And what a dirty mess you’ve been making here! What can it all mean? How you’re shrieking and

Julie. Christine, you’re a woman, and my friend. Beware of this scoundrel.

John. [Slightly shy and embarrassed.] If you ladies want to have an argument, I’ll go in and have a shave. [He sneaks away to the right.]

Julie. You will understand me, and you must do what I tell you.

Christine. No, I certainly don’t understand such carryings-on. Where are you going to in your traveling dress? And he’s got his hat on. What’s it all mean?

Julie. Listen to me, Christine; listen to me, then I’ll tell you everything.

Christine. I don’t want to know anything.

Julie. You must listen to me.

Christine. What is it, then? Your tomfoolery with John? Look here; I don’t care anything about that, because it had nothing to do with me, but if you think you’re going to tempt him to elope with you, then we’ll put a very fine spoke in your little wheel.