wonderingly and admiringly.] By jove! Which is you--the shabby,
shapeless rebel who entertained me this afternoon or--[kissing the
tips of his fingers to her]--or that?

AGNES. This--this. [Seating herself, slowly and thoughtfully, facing
the stove, her back turned to him.] My sex has found me out.

ST. OLPHERTS. Ha! tsch! [Between his teeth.] Damn it, for your sake I
almost wish Lucas was a different sort of feller!

AGNES. [Partly to herself, with intensity.] Nothing matters now--not
even that. He's mine. He would have died but for me. I gave him life.
He is my child, my husband, my lover, my bread, my daylight--all--
everything. Mine! Mine!

ST. OLPHERTS. [Rising and limping over to her.] Good luck, my girl.

AGNES. Thanks!

ST. OLPHERTS. I'm rather sorry for you. This sort of triumph is
short-lived, you know.

AGNES. [Turning to him.] I know. But I shall fight for every moment
that prolongs it. This is my hour.

ST. OLPHERTS. Your hour--?

AGNES. There's only one hour in a woman's life.

ST. OLPHERTS. One--?