But you mustn't think that I'm trying to make myself interesting, or that I stand here before you beautifully whitened and purified! Oh, no! What I'm going to say to you now has never been said to any one, to any man before. And you are going to despise me utterly. But I must say it--once, once in my life--and then the old hypocrisy can go on again. Well, I don't know what it is, but it's like a fire in me. No, worse, much worse! When I think of that frightful man, my heart fairly shrivels up. And yet--I can never get away from it. There's always a terror, a horror in me; and yet there is always an eternal--an eternal hunger. Yes--a restlessness--a search--the whole day long. It's strongest toward twilight. Then I want to go out--out into the wide world--to fly to unknown lands. Then I think to myself--out there, no one knows you; out there, there is no sin. Ah, it's as if I were lashed! And I heap such reproaches upon myself because of it! Even now you have not heard the worst. I must tell you the worst, too. Well, you know how I hate that man--yet, sometimes it seems to me that I must go to him and say to him--Behold, here I am again! Ebeling (_jumps up, muttering to himself_). What has he done? The scoundrel! The blackguard! Margot. There! Now you know on whom you've wasted your sympathy! Now I can go. (_Stands up, snatches her muff, and prepares to leave._) Ebeling. (_Who has been silently walking up and down more hotly._) It appears then that you still love that man. Margot (_with a short, cutting laugh_). Oh, Herr Ebeling, if you've gathered _that_ from all I've said, then I might just as well have addressed myself to the four walls. I've been hoping for three long years that you would secretly manage the thing in such a way that I'd never have to see him again in all my life--never, never--not even from a distance. Ebeling. Why did you never confide in me before? Why to-day for the first time? Margot. _Can_ one do such a thing? Is one ever allowed to? I'm a well-bred young girl, you know. I must observe the conventions. How I came to do it to-day, I don't know myself. But formerly when you were alone with me, did you ever, at any time, give me to understand, even by a glance, that you--you knew anything--about me? Do you think such an attitude gives one courage? Ah, and in my need I've prayed so often, "Dear God, let him see into my soul! If _he_ doesn't free me, no one will." Instead, you've only plunged me the deeper--pushed me before you--always deeper into misery--into the arms of that beast--into the filth. (_Sinks into a chair, sobbing._) Ebeling. (_Regards her confusedly, then approaches her._) Dear child! That wasn't my intention! (_Laying his hand on her shoulder caressingly._) My dear, dear child!