A devil: that’s what I am—a devil. No human being would act as I’m doing, would he? DOLL BLONDIN (_judicially_) Oh, you’ll come out of it, now you see the girl’s all right, won’t you? THE DEVIL But suppose I didn’t? DOLL BLONDIN (_indignantly_) Then you _would_ be a devil! Not fit to associate with human beings. FANNY (_crying to her mother_) Can’t you think of something I can do to prove I’m not the same girl who came here this morning? MRS. FELIX (_crying_) It’s my fault. If I’d been a good mother, instead of a good bridge player— AGNUS (_agonizedly_) Oh! for God’s sake! Can’t something be done? I’ll kill myself— SCHWARTZENHOPFEL (_who has also been moved, says now sharply_) Here, here! (_In a hoarse whisper_) Don’t you go taking such liberties with what don’t belong to you. THE DEVIL (_who has been musing on what Doll has said_) Not fit to associate with human beings. No, I guess not. (_Looking at Schwartzenhopfel_) I should have remained the Dutchman with no human ties. Sentiment and romance just make me ill. DOLL BLONDIN (_indignantly_) Shame on you! (_She goes over to comfort the other two women_) THE DEVIL (_still musing_) I suppose that’s how The Devil got his bad name. Trying to cure Faust of Marguerite in order to use him for the world’s advancement. Same ingratitude, same mix-up; everybody calling me names. (_Sharply to Schwartzenhopfel, who has listened_) Very incorrectly reported, even at that—very unjustly—that Faust affair. Those stupid Germans—when they’re not drinking themselves into sentimental poetry, the ravings of a disordered brain, they’re guzzling themselves into gloomy philosophy—the pessimism of a disordered liver—and the fellow who wrote up the Faust-Marguerite case had both maladies (_viciously_) in their most virulent form! And that’s what most humans get their idea of me from—when, actually, the case was just about like this one—(_meditatively_) I wonder what I did to straighten things out that time? (_Meditates_) [_All the others watch him in awe._ FANNY (_lifting a tear-stained face, whispers_) What is he saying, mammy? Is it about me? THE DEVIL (_giving the Faust matter up_) No use, I forget— AGNUS (_piteously_) You _will_ do something, won’t you? THE DEVIL (_sadly_) I suppose I ’ll have to. Humanity has to suffer as usual. Sentiment, always sentiment, maudlin sentiment: that’s what keeps abuses unrectified, men ignorant, women slaves, the world’s intellect developing no faster than a snail crawls. Sentiment—maudlin sentiment—and I’ve lived so long among men that the cancer’s in me, too— AGNUS You have got a heart then—they did wrong you. I’ll devote years to setting you right in the eyes of the world. THE DEVIL What? AGNUS (_stammering_) A book! THE DEVIL (_harshly_)