Tekla.  On the contrary, he has just been speaking of you in very sympathetic terms.

Gustav.  Oh!—­Well, everything becomes covered up by time, like names cut in a tree—­and not even dislike can maintain itself permanently in our minds.

Tekla.  He has never disliked you, for he has never seen you.  And as for me, I have always cherished a dream—­that of seeing you come together as friends—­or at least of seeing you meet for once in my presence—­of seeing you shake hands—­and then go your different ways again.

Gustav.  It has also been my secret longing to see her whom I used to love more than my own life—­to make sure that she was in good hands.  And although I have heard nothing but good of him, and am familiar with all his work, I should nevertheless have liked, before it grew too late, to look into his eyes and beg him to take good care of the treasure Providence has placed in his possession.  In that way I hoped also to lay the hatred that must have developed instinctively between us; I wished to bring some peace and humility into my soul, so that I might manage to live through the rest of my sorrowful days.

Tekla.  You have uttered my own thoughts, and you have understood me.  I thank you for it!

Gustav.  Oh, I am a man of small account, and have always been too insignificant to keep you in the shadow.  My monotonous way of living, my drudgery, my narrow horizons—­all that could not satisfy a soul like yours, longing for liberty.  I admit it.  But you understand—­you who have searched the human soul—­what it cost me to make such a confession to myself.

Tekla.  It is noble, it is splendid, to acknowledge one’s own shortcomings—­and it’s not everybody that’s capable of it. [Sighs] But yours has always been an honest, and faithful, and reliable nature—­one that I had to respect—­but—­

Gustav.  Not always—­not at that time!  But suffering purifies, sorrow ennobles, and—­I have suffered!

Tekla.  Poor Gustav!  Can you forgive me?  Tell me, can you?

Gustav.  Forgive?  What?  I am the one who must ask you to forgive.

Tekla. [Changing tone] I believe we are crying, both of us—­we who are old enough to know better!

Gustav. [Feeling his way] Old?  Yes, I am old.  But you—­you grow younger every day.

(He has by that time manoeuvred himself up to the chair on the left and sits down on it, whereupon Tekla sits down on the sofa.)

Tekla.  Do you think so?

Gustav.  And then you know how to dress.

Tekla.  I learned that from you.  Don’t you remember how you figured out what colors would be most becoming to me?

Gustav.  No.

Tekla.  Yes, don’t you remember—­hm!—­I can even recall how you used to be angry with me whenever I failed to have at least a touch of crimson about my dress.