the truth. I had sworn to myself that you should know it one day--
you, and you only!

Manders. And what may the truth be?

Mrs. Alving. The truth is this, that my husband died just as
great a profligate as he had been all his life.

Manders (feeling for a chair). What are you saying?

Mrs. Alving. After nineteen years of married life, just as
profligate--in his desires at all events--as he was before you
married us.

Manders. And can you talk of his youthful indiscretions--his
irregularities--his excesses, if you like--as a profligate life!

Mrs. Alving. That was what the doctor who attended him called it.

Manders. I don't understand what you mean.

Mrs. Alving. It is not necessary that you should.

Manders. It makes my brain reel. To think that your marriage--all
the years of wedded life you spent with your husband--were
nothing but a hidden abyss of misery.

Mrs. Alving. That and nothing else. Now you know.

Manders. This--this bewilders me. I can't understand it! I can't