_Nora_ (_after a pause, whispers_). No, no--it isn't true. It's impossible; it must be impossible. (_The_ NURSE _opens the door on the left._) _Nurse_. The little ones are begging so hard to be allowed to come in to mamma. _Nora_. No, no, no! Don't let them come in to me! You stay with them, Anne. _Nurse_. Very well, ma'am. (_Shuts the door._) _Nora_ (_pale with terror_). Deprave my little children? Poison my home? (_A short pause. Then she tosses her head._) It's not true. It can't possibly be true. ACT II (THE SAME SCENE--_The Christmas Tree is in the corner by the piano, stripped of its ornaments and with burnt-down candle-ends on its dishevelled branches._ NORA'S _cloak and hat are lying on the sofa. She is alone in the room, walking about uneasily. She stops by the sofa and takes up her cloak._) _Nora_ (_drops the cloak_). Someone is coming now! (_Goes to the door and listens._) No--it is no one. Of course, no one will come today, Christmas Day--nor tomorrow either. But, perhaps--(_opens the door and looks out_.) No, nothing in the letter-box; it is quite empty. (_Comes forward._) What rubbish! of course he can't be in earnest about it. Such a thing couldn't happen; it is impossible--I have three little children. (_Enter the_ NURSE _from the room on the left, carrying a big cardboard box._) _Nurse_. At last I have found the box with the fancy dress. _Nora_. Thanks; put it on the table. _Nurse_ (_doing so_). But it is very much in want of mending. _Nora_. I should like to tear it into a hundred thousand pieces. _Nurse_. What an idea! It can easily be put in order--just a little patience. _Nora_. Yes, I will go and get Mrs. Linde to come and help me with it. _Nurse_. What, out again? In this horrible weather? You will catch cold, ma'am, and make yourself ill. _Nora_. Well, worse than that might happen. How are the children? _Nurse_. The poor little souls are playing with their Christmas presents, but-- _Nora_. Do they ask much for me? _Nurse_. You see, they are so accustomed to have their mamma with them. _Nora_. Yes, but, nurse, I shall not be able to be so much with them now as I was before. _Nurse_. Oh well, young children easily get accustomed to anything. _Nora_. Do you think so? Do you think they would forget their mother if she went away altogether? _Nurse_. Good heavens!--went away altogether? _Nora_. Nurse, I want you to tell me something I have often wondered about--how could you have the heart to put your own child out among strangers? _Nurse_. I was obliged to, if I wanted to be little Nora's nurse. _Nora_. Yes, but how could you be willing to do it? _Nurse_. What, when I was going to get such a good place by it? A poor girl who has got into trouble should be glad to. Besides, that wicked man didn't do a single thing for me. _Nora_. But I suppose your daughter has quite forgotten you. _Nurse_. No, indeed she hasn't. She wrote to me when she was confirmed, and when she was married.