SOPHY (shaking her head). Your law? [Continues packing.]

I shall be obliged to go away with the children.

FORESTER (surprised).

You are going to—­

SOPHY.

If you don’t come to terms with Stein—­

FORESTER.

If—­

SOPHY.

You need not get angry, Ulrich.  You cannot act otherwise, and neither can I. I do not reproach you; I say nothing, absolutely nothing.  You persist in regarding as your enemy whoever counsels you to yield—­and cousin Wilkens is going to disinherit the children if you remain obstinate, and if I and the children are not in his house by noon tomorrow.  Under the circumstances I can do nothing but go in silence.

FORESTER (drawing a deep breath).

You wish—­

SOPHY.  I wish nothing.  You wish and cousin Wilkens wishes.  You cruel men decree our fate, and—­we must bear it.  If you would give in, then, indeed, we might stay.  Do you believe I am going with a light heart?  As far as I am concerned, I should be willing to stand by you till death.  But for the children’s sake and—­for your sake also.

FORESTER (gloomily).

How for my sake?

SOPHY.

You are dismissed, you have no resources; and another position at your age—­after your affair with Stein—­you might—­

FORESTER (violently).

Accept charity?  For my wife and children?

SOPHY.

Don’t become angry.  I don’t say:  Yield.  I will press nothing upon you.  You cannot yield, and I—­cannot remain—­unless you yield.  If we must part [Her voice shakes]—­then let us part amicably.  Let us forgive each other for what one party does against the interests of the other, or [with gentle reproach]—­for what the other party thinks is being done against his interests.

FORESTER.

You intend, then, going to Wilkens?

SOPHY.

I must.

FORESTER.

And the children are to go also?

SOPHY.

It is for their sake that I go.

FORESTER.

Will you not also take Nero along?  Out there?  The dog?  Why should the dog remain longer with his dismissed master?  Take the dog along.  And when I get my rights, as I am bound to get them—­and stand before the world no longer as a scoundrel—­then—­why, then the dog may come back again.  You think he is not going to leave me?  Surely the dumb beast is not going to be more stupid than human beings are?  Wife and children are prudent, and only such a poor beast is going to be stupid?  One ought to kick the beast for such stupidity.  An old man, a ruined man, who in his old age would be branded as a scoundrel, if Stein had his will, and such a beast refuses to see reason?  After fifty years of faithful service thrown out of my position as a scoundrel, because I refuse to be a scoundrel—­and I have sacrificed