(Henriette tries to hide her emotion.)

Adolphe.  Am I in the way?  Just let me warm myself a little in your sunshine, Maurice, and then I’ll go.

Maurice.  Why should you go when you have only just arrived?

Adolphe.  Why?  Because I have seen what I need not have seen; because I know now that my hour is past. [Pause] That you sent for me, I take as an expression of thoughtfulness, a notice of what has happened, a frankness that hurts less than deceit.  You hear that I think well of my fellow-beings, and this I have learned from you, Maurice. [Pause] But, my friend, a few moments ago I passed through the Church of St. Germain, and there I saw a woman and a child.  I am not wishing that you had seen them, for what has happened cannot be altered, but if you gave a thought or a word to them before you set them adrift on the waters of the great city, then you could enjoy your happiness undisturbed.  And now I bid you good-by.

Henriette.  Why must you go?

Adolphe.  And you ask that?  Do you want me to tell you?

Henriette.  No, I don’t.

Adolphe.  Good-by then! [Goes out.]

Maurice.  The Fall:  and lo! “they knew that they were naked.”

Henriette.  What a difference between this scene and the one we imagined!  He is better than we.

Maurice.  It seems to me now as if all the rest were better than we.

Henriette.  Do you see that the sun has vanished behind clouds, and that the woods have lost their rose colour?

Maurice.  Yes, I see, and the blue lake has turned black.  Let us flee to some place where the sky is always blue and the trees are always green.

Henriette.  Yes, let us—­but without any farewells.

Maurice.  No, with farewells.

Henriette.  We were to fly.  You spoke of wings—­and your feet are of lead.  I am not jealous, but if you go to say farewell and get two pairs of arms around your neck—­then you can’t tear yourself away.

Maurice.  Perhaps you are right, but only one pair of little arms is needed to hold me fast.

Henriette.  It is the child that holds you then, and not the woman?

Maurice.  It is the child.

Henriette.  The child!  Another woman’s child!  And for the sake of it I am to suffer.  Why must that child block the way where I want to pass, and must pass?

Maurice.  Yes, why?  It would be better if it had never existed.

Henriette. [Walks excitedly back and forth] Indeed!  But now it does exist.  Like a rock on the road, a rock set firmly in the ground, immovable, so that it upsets the carriage.

Maurice.  The triumphal chariot!—­The ass is driven to death, but the rock remains.  Curse it! [Pause.]

Henriette.  There is nothing to do.