r; she is dazed, but
suddenly she becomes conscious of whose arms she is in, and
utters a cry of repulsion._]

VERA
Those arms reeking from that crimson river!
[_She falls back._]

BARON [_Sullenly_]
Don't echo that babble. You came to these arms often enough when they
were fresh from the battlefield.

VERA
But not from the shambles! You heard what he called you. Not
soldier--butcher! Oh, I dared to dream of happiness after my nightmare
of Siberia, but you--you----
[_She breaks down for the first time in hysterical sobs._]

BARON [_Brokenly_]
Vera! Little Vera! Don't cry! You stab me!

VERA
You thought you were ordering your soldiers to fire at the Jews, but it
was my heart they pierced.
[_She sobs on._]

BARON
... And my own.... But we will comfort each other. I will go to the Tsar
myself--with my forehead to the earth--to beg for your pardon!... Come,
put your wet face to little father's....

VERA [_Violently pushing his face away_]
I hate you! I curse the day I was born your daughter!
[_She staggers toward the door leading to the interior. At the
same moment DAVID, who has reached the door leading to the hall,
now feeling subconsciously that VERA is going and that his last
reason for lingering on is removed, turns the door-handle. The
click attracts the BARON'S attention, he veers round._]

BARON [_To DAVID_]
Halt!
[_DAVID turns mechanically. VERA drifts out through her door,
leaving the two men face to face. The BARON beckons to DAVID, who
as if hypnotised moves nearer. The BARON whips out his pistol,
slowly crosses to DAVID, who stands as if awaiting his fate. The
BARON hands the pistol to DAVID._]
You were right!
[_He steps back swiftly with a touch of stern heroism into the
attitude of the culprit at a military execution, awaiting the
bullet._]
Shoot me!

DAVID [_Takes the pistol mechanically, looks long and pensively at it as
with a sense of its irrelevance. Gradually his arm droops and lets
the pistol fall on the table, and there his hand touches a string
of his violin, which yields a little note. Thus reminded of it, he
picks up the violin, and as his fingers draw out the broken string
he murmurs_]
I must get a new string.
[_He resumes his dragging march toward the door, repeating
maunderingly_]
I must get a new string.
[_The curtain falls._]

Act IV