Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/304



I do not know him.

No, that is true. You do not even know him.

[Harshly.] You, his mother, have taken care of that!

[Looking at him with a lofty air.] Oh, you do not know what I have taken care of!

You?

Yes, I. I alone.

Then tell me.

I have taken care of your memory.

[With a short dry laugh.] My memory? Oh, indeed! It sounds almost as if I were dead already.

[With emphasis.] And so you are.

[Slowly.] Yes, perhaps you are right. [''Firing up.''] But no, no! Not yet! I have been close