Oh, Hedda, what an odd way to look at it! But never mind poor dear Mr. Lövborg now. What _we've_ got to do is to see if we can't put his wonderful manuscript, that he said he had torn to pieces, together again. [_Takes a bundle of small pages out of the pocket of her mantle._] There are the loose scraps he dictated it to me from. I hid them on the chance of some such emergency. And if dear Mr. Tesman and I were to put our heads together, I _do_ think something might come of it. GEORGE. Fancy! I will dedicate my life--or all I can spare of it--to the task. I seem to feel I owe him some slight amends, perhaps. No use crying over spilt milk, eh, Mrs. Elvsted? We'll sit down--just you and I--in the back drawing-room, and see if you can't inspire me as you did him, eh? MRS. ELVSTED. Oh, goodness, yes! I should like it--if it only might be possible! [GEORGE _and_ MRS. ELVSTED _go into the back drawing-room and become absorbed in eager conversation_; HEDDA _sits in a chair in the front room, and a little later_ BRACK _crosses over to her_ HEDDA. [_In a low tone._] Oh, Judge, _what_ a relief to know that everything--including Lövborg's pistol--went off so well! In the breast! Isn't there a veil of unintentional beauty in that? Such an act of voluntary courage, too! BRACK. [_Smiles._] H'm!--perhaps, dear Mrs. Hedda---- HEDDA. [_Enthusiastically._] But _wasn't_ it sweet of him! To have the courage to live his own life after his own fashion--to break away from the banquet of life--_so_ early and _so_ drunk! A beautiful act like that _does_ appeal to a superior woman's imagination! BRACK. Sorry to shatter your poetical illusions, little Mrs. Hedda, but, as a matter of fact, our lamented friend met his end under other circumstances. The shot did _not_ strike him in the _breast_--but---- [_Pauses._ HEDDA. [_Excitedly._] General Gabler's pistols! I might have known it! Did they _ever_ shoot straight? Where _was_ he hit, then? BRACK. [_In a discreet undertone._] A little lower down! HEDDA. Oh, _how_ disgusting!--how vulgar!--how ridiculous!--like everything else about me! BRACK. Yes, we're realistic types of human nature, and all that--but a trifle squalid, perhaps. And why did you give Lövborg your pistol, when it was certain to be traced by the police? For a charming cold-blooded woman with a clear head and no scruples, wasn't it just a leetle foolish! HEDDA. Perhaps; but I wanted him to do it beautifully, and he didn't! Oh, I've just admitted that I _did_ give him the pistol--how annoyingly unwise of me! Now I'm in _your_ power, I suppose? BRACK. Precisely--for some reason it's not easy to understand. But it's inevitable, and you know how you dread anything approaching scandal. All your past proceedings show that. [_To_ GEORGE _and_ MRS. ELVSTED _who come in together from the back-room._] Well, how are you getting on with the reconstruction of poor Lövborg's great work, eh? GEORGE.