t couldn't get away sit peeking through the blinds
gossiping about their neighbors--"See, he has his winter suit on"--and
sneer at the worn-down heels of the passers-by. And from the poor
quarters wretched beings drag themselves out of their holes, cripples,
creatures without noses or ears, the wicked and unfortunate--filling
the parks and squares as if they had conquered the city--there where the
well-dressed children just played, while their parents or maids looked
on and encouraged them in their frolics. I remember last summer when I--

CHRISTINE. Oh, Elis--Elis--look forward--look forward.

ELIS. Is it brighter there?

CHRISTINE. Let us hope so.

ELIS [Sits at writing table]. If it would only stop snowing out there,
so we could go out for a walk!

CHRISTINE. Dearest Elis, yesterday you wanted night to come, so that
we might be shielded from the hateful glances of the people. You said,
"Darkness is so kind," and that it's like drawing the blanket over one's
head.

ELIS. That only goes to prove that my misery is as great one way as
the other. [Reading papers.] The worst part of the suit is all the
questioning about father's way of living.--It says here that we gave
big dinner parties.--One witness practically says that my father was a
drunkard--no, that's too much. No. No, I won't--as tho'--I must go thro'
it, I suppose.--Aren't you cold?

CHRISTINE. No. But it isn't warm here. Isn't Lina home?

ELIS. She's gone to church.

CHRISTINE. Oh, yes, that's so. But mother will soon be home.

ELIS. I am always afraid to have her come home. She has had so many
experiences of people's evil and malice.

CHRISTINE. There is a strain of unusual melancholy in your family, Elis.

ELIS. And that's why none but the melancholy have ever been our friends.
Light-hearted people have always avoided us--shrunk from us.

CHRISTINE. There is mother, going in the kitchen door.

ELIS. Don't be impatient with her, Christine.

CHRISTINE. Impatient! Ah, no, it's worse for her than any of us. But I
can't quite understand her.

ELIS. She is always trying to hide our disgrace. That's why she seems so
peculiar. Poor mother!

MRS. HEYST [Enters, dressed in black, psalm book in hand, and
handkerchief]. Good evening, children.

ALL. Good evening, mother dear.

MRS. HEYST. Why are you all in black, as tho' you were in mourning?
[Pause.]

ELIS. Is it still snowing, mother?

MRS. HEYST. It's sleeting now. [Goes over to Eleonora.]