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Well?

—that I have no right to bear your father's name.

[Staggering backwards.] Asta! What is this you say!

Read the letters. Then you will see—and understand. And perhaps have some forgiveness—for mother, too.

[Clutching at his forehead.] I cannot grasp this—I cannot realise the thought. You, Asta—you are not

You are not my brother, Alfred.

[Quickly, half defiantly, looking at her.] Well, but what difference does that really make in our relation? Practically none at all.

[Shaking her head.] It makes all the difference, Alfred. Our relation is not that of brother and sister.

No, no. But it is none the less sacred for that—it will always be equally sacred.