_Enter_ Ellen. Ellen (_in the doorway_). Mother! Are you ill? (Beata _stretches out her arms again, half beckoning_ Ellen, _half warding her off_. Ellen, _hastening to her_.) Mother! Mother! what is it? Beata (_softly_). Nothing, nothing. (_She strokes_ Ellen's hair, _lets her arms slip gradually from the girl's shoulders, and finds the phial containing the drops in her left hand. A long shudder_.) Give me the drops. Ellen. How you snatch! Here they are. (Beata _turns the phial about in her hand_.) Mother, are we really going to Rossitsch, this evening? Beata (_nodding_). Yes. Ellen. In midwinter? Why do we go? Beata. H'm---- Ellen. What will Norbert say? It looks as though you wanted to separate us---- Beata. Does it? Does it really look so? Ellen. No, no, no--forgive me! No. Beata. But others might want to separate you--for life--for life, Ellen! Do you understand? Ellen. Mother! Beata. Shall I tell you what to do if ever that happens? Wait till you are of age, and then go to him wherever he is, and say: "My mother sent me." Do you see? Ellen. Yes, yes--but why----? Beata. By and by, at Rossitsch, I'll tell you. When we sit together in the big hall, over the fire, with the wind singing in the chimney. You'll like that, won't you, dear? We'll be so jolly together, you and I. And now, darling, go. (_Passionately_.) No, come back-- (_kissing her) and now-- (_smiling at her) go dear, go! (Ellen _goes out_.) _Enter_ Conrad. Beata. Has every one come? Conrad. All but Baron Richard. Beata. You may announce luncheon, then. (Conrad _goes out. A moment later he throws open the doors, and_ Baron Ludwig, Prince Usingen, Baron Brachtmann, _and_ Kellinghausen _enter_.) Beata. Prince--Herr von Brachtmann--how do you do? (_To_ Baron Ludwig.) Your Excellency, you are to sit on my right. Baron Ludwig. You do me too much honour. (Conrad _closes the folding-doors_.) Kellinghausen. And now, gentlemen, shall we begin _a la Russe_, with a little caviare? (_He leads the others to the table near the sofa, where cold dishes and liqueurs are set out_.) Prince. Your true German can't abide a Russian, but we all adore their caviare. Baron Ludwig.