Natter.—Don't let me keep you. (In a whisper.) Perhaps even to the point of life and death?
Friedrich.—Perhaps.
Mauer and Genia come in from rear.
Mauer (About to leave).—Well, my friend,—
Friedrich—No, you simply mustn't go. Genia, you must hold him . . . with all your seductive arts.
Friedrich, Paul and Natter go to the tennis court.
Genia.—I am afraid my arts will prove insufficient.
Mauer.—I'm sorry but I must go, Madam.
Genia.—And I presume we shan't see you for a time.
Mauer.—That is quite likely, Madam.
Genia (Gazing at him).—I'm sorry I've lost a friend. I who am really without blame, at least toward you. Why don't you answer me, doctor? I don't want to force myself upon your confidence, the less so that I can readily imagine what is driving you away from here.
Mauer.—There I am hardly warranted in complimenting you on your acuteness. Permit me now, Madam, to say good-night.
Genia.—It is not for me to permit or forbid. Especially as . . . Madam. Good-bye, Doctor. And please let me give you a parting injunction. Don't take the thing too hard. It would be too ridiculous, if you, a man who knows the serious side of life, were to attach any importance to such a frivolous game. Love affairs are nothing more, Doctor, believe me, and once you've found that out, very amusing to watch and to take part in.
Mauer.—Once you've found that out.
Genia.—Oh, you shall, my friend. The sad, stupid words that are trailing through your mind,—just let them evaporate, and you will see how immaterial they really are. They vanish, all. They blow away. Those sad, stupid words.
Mauer.—Perhaps there is only one really sad thing in the world, and that is a lie.
Genia.—A lie? Does such a thing occur in a game? Strategy or fun is what you call it there.
Mauer.—A game? Ah, if it were so. I assure you Genia, I shouldn't make the least objection to a world in which love were really nothing more than an amusing game. But then,—honesty if you please! Honesty,—even to the orgy. That I could let pass. But this mixture of restraint and impudence, of cowardly jealousy and hypocritical complacence, of raging passion and empty lust as we see it here—that I find sadly disgusting. The
