The dialogue that follows is a crescendo of the sex-against-sex quarrel. "A comrade," concludes Axel, "is a more or less loyal competitor, but we are enemies." Bertha, selfish, mean, inebriated by her triumph, goes out to celebrate her victory in the company of friends. Axel stays at home to nurse his sorrow. The curtain descends upon the dejected husband begging his wife not to come home drunk. Act II shows us Bertha usurping Axel's place as teacher. She finds fault with his technique, and snatches the brush out of his hand to show him how to paint. Her puny mind reels with the desire to humiliate him. Malicious tongues have whispered that he has painted her picture, that he has good-humouredly let her reap the honour of his toil. Bertha is casting about for a means of crushing Axel for ever. To-morrow they will give an evening-party. Her friend Abel--another of the emancipated, heartless, false, perverse, masculine women of artistic Bohemia--makes a welcome suggestion. Why not arrange to have Axel's rejected picture sent home at the very hour when their friends are assembled in the studio? The idea fascinates Bertha, but she dare not be responsible. "I should like it to be done, but I don't want to be concerned in it," she says. "I want to stand guiltless and to be able to swear that I am innocent." And Abel undertakes to manage the matter. The sex-war reaches its climax in Act III. Axel has tom himself free from the meshes of his decaying love. Now he knows Bertha as she really is. He has discovered her dishonest book-keeping, her money transactions with Willmer, her insidious efforts to emasculate his soul--he realises the full horror of her short hair, and of their union. He has broken his marriage-vows, and throws down the wedding-ring. He is free. But Bertha's malignity clings to him: _Bertha_. And this, all this noble revenge, simply because you were inferior to me. _Axel_. I was your superior when I painted your picture. _Bertha_. When you painted my picture! Say that again and I will strike you. _Axel_. You who despise brute force are always the first to appeal to it. Strike me if you like. _Bertha_ (_advancing towards him_). You think I have not the strength. _Axel_ (_seizing both her wrists and holding them_). No, not that. Are you convinced now that I am also physically the stronger? Bow down, or I will break you! _Bertha_. Dare you strike me? _Axel_. Why not? I only know of one reason why I should not. _Bertha_. And that is----? _Axel_. That you are irresponsible. _Bertha_ (_struggling to free herself_). Ah, let me go! _Axel_. Not until you have begged my pardon. Down on your knees. (_He forces her down with one hand_.) Now look up to me from below. That is your place, the place you yourself have chosen.