Mrs Buchner!!! [_Mrs Buchner, hiding her face in her hands, as if in shame, goes off crying through the stairway. William follows her mechanically a few steps, stops, tries to master his inward excitement, then suddenly, shaken with weeping, leans for support against the wall. Ida enters, her face pale, looking serious and careworn, comes with gentle steps to William, embraces him, pressing her cheek to his._ IDA. Ah, Willy, sad days are coming, and, and, yes, Willy, bright days will come again. You mustn’t give way like that—so hopelessly. WILLIAM (_stammering passionately_). Ida!—You only! Dearest, sweetest! Only say how I can—how could I bear my life now without you! Your voice, your words, your whole sweet wondrous presence, your hands—your gentle, faithful hands. IDA. And what of _me_?—What do you think of my life without _you_? No, love!—we will cling to each other and never let go, close, close, and however long it lasts— WILLIAM. Yes, yes! but supposing anything were to happen? IDA. Oh, don’t speak like that! WILLIAM. I only mean—one can never tell—one of us might die. IDA. Ah, we are young. WILLIAM. Even then!—One day it must happen, some day, and I, at any rate, shall never live to be old. IDA (_passionately_). Then I shall fasten my arms round you—press myself to you—Then I shall go with you. WILLIAM. Ida! That is what one _says_. But you would never really do it. IDA. I would do it! WILLIAM. You think so now. You don’t know how quickly one forgets. IDA. I could not breathe without you. WILLIAM. That is what one fancies— IDA. No, no, no, William!— WILLIAM. But to love like that, would be a kind of madness. One shouldn’t put everything on the turn of one card. IDA. I—don’t quite understand you. WILLIAM. Why—I—you see (_in irritable tones_). Ugh! Darling, it’s not an enlivening subject!—How’s Father? IDA. He’s asleep now! but what _is_ the matter with you? WILLIAM (_walking about_). The feeling will come, no one knows how. (_Suddenly grinding his teeth_) I tell you, there are moments—when that rage of despair seizes you, those are the moments—I can well understand—in those moments a man might throw himself head first from five stories high on to the pavement.—The idea becomes positively alluring. IDA. God forbid! You mustn’t give way to such ideas, Willy! WILLIAM. Why not, I should like to know? What should such fellows as I do, crawling between heaven and earth?—Useless creatures! Exterminate themselves! That would be something. They would at least have done _one_ useful thing. IDA. After all, it is not a thing to admire. You are overwrought and exhausted. WILLIAM (_in sharp, unyielding tones_). Leave me in peace, can’t you? What do you understand of all that.—(_Shocked at himself, adds_) Ah, love! You must forgive me. You had better leave me now—I can not bear to wound you. And in this mood, as I feel now, I can’t answer for myself.