Laura. Yes, hasn't he?

Mother. Good gracious, Laura, do you mean that you--

Laura. No, I didn't mean anything.

Mother. Laura, are you trying to conceal something?

Father. And from us? (Gets up.) Are things as bad as that?

Laura. I assure you, dear people, it is nothing; it is only--

Father and Mother (together). Only--?

Laura. No, no, it is nothing--only you frighten me so.

Father and Mother (together). She is crying!

Mathilde. She is crying!

Father. Now, sir--why is she crying?

Laura. But, father, father--look, I am not crying the least bit.

Mother and Mathilde. Yes, she is crying!

Axel. Yes--and will cry every day until we make a change here! (A pause,
while they all look at him.) Well, as so much has been said, it may as
well all come out. Our marriage is not a happy one, because it lacks the
most essential thing of all.

Mother. Merciful heavens, what are you saying!

Father. Compose yourself; let me talk to him. What do you mean, sir?

Axel. Laura does not love me--

Laura. Yes, that is what he says!

Axel. She hasn't the least idea what love means, and will never learn as
long as she is in her father's house.

Mother and Father. Why?

Axel. Because she lives only for her parents; me, she looks upon merely
as an elder brother who is to assist her in loving them.

Mother. Is that so distasteful to you, then?

Axel. No, no. I am devoted to you and grateful to you, and I am proud of
being your son; but it is only through her that I am that--and she has
never yet really taken me to her heart. I am quite at liberty to go away
or to stay, as I please; _she_ is a fixture here. There is never one
of her requests to me, scarcely a single wish she expresses--indeed,
scarcely a sign of endearment she shows me, that she has not first of
all divided up into three portions; and I get my one-third of it, and
get it last or not at all.

Mother. He is jealous--and of us!

Father. Jealous of us!

Laura. Yes, indeed he is, mother.

Father. This is mere fancy, Axel--a ridiculous idea. Do not let any one
else hear you saying that.

Axel. No, it is neither mere fancy nor is it ridiculous. It colours the
whole of our relations to one another; it gnaws at my feelings, and then
I torment her, make you angry, and lead an idle, empty, ill-tempered
existence--

Father. You are ill, there is no doubt about it.

Axel. I am, and you have made me ill.

Father and Mother (together). We have?

F