CLARA (suddenly, when she hears the name).

I must go to him.  That is just it—­I am no longer the sister of a thief!—­Oh, God! what shall I do?  Leonard will, he must!  He needs only not to be a fiend!  Everything will be as it used to be [Shudders]—­as it used to be!

[To the SECRETARY.]

Do not be offended, Frederick!—­Why are my legs so heavy all of a sudden?

SECRETARY.

You will—­

CLARA.

To Leonard!  Where else should I go?  Only that one road lies before me in this world!

SECRETARY.

You love him, then!  Well—­

CLARA (wildly).

Love him?  It is either he or death!  Does anybody wonder that I choose him?  I would not do it had I only myself to consider!

SECRETARY.

He or death?  Girl, thus speaks Despair, or—­

CLARA.

Do not make me frantic!  Do not mention that word again!  You!  It is you I love!  There!  I cry it out to you as if I were already wandering on the other side of the grave, where no one blushes any more, where cold and naked forms glide past one another, because the fearful, holy presence of God has entirely consumed in every one all thought of others.

SECRETARY.

Me?  Still me?  Clara, I divined it when I saw you out in the garden.

CLARA.

Did you?  Oh, the other too!

[Gloomily, as if she were alone.]

He stepped up in front of me—­he or I!—­Oh, my heart, my accursed heart!  In order to prove to him, prove to myself, that it was not so, or to stifle it if it were so, I did what now [Breaks out into tears]—­God in Heaven!  I would have pity on myself, were I Thou, and Thou I!

SECRETARY.

Clara, be my wife!  I came to look once more into your eyes in the old way.  Had you not understood the look I should have gone away again without speaking.  Everything that I am and have I now offer to you.  It is little, but it may grow to be more.  I should have been here long ago, but your mother was sick, and then she died.

[Illustration:  Alfred Rethel DEATH PLAYING THE FINALE]

CLARA (laughs crazily).

SECRETARY.

Take courage, girl!  The fellow has your word—­that worries you.  And, to be sure, it is a damnable thing!  How could you—­

CLARA.

Oh, ask me everything that conspires to drive a poor girl crazy!  Scorn and derision from all sides when you went to the University, and did not let me hear from you.—­“She still thinks of him!” “She thinks that child’s play was meant seriously!” “Does she receive any letters from him?”—­And then, too, my mother:  “Stay with people of your class!” “Pride never succeeds!” “Leonard is a very nice fellow; everybody is surprised that you look at him over your shoulder so!” And added to all the rest, my own heart:  “If he has forgotten you, show him that you too—­” Oh, God!