LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. (Stroking her knee.) How's it going with you, then? You still keep at the French?

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. I lie and sleep.

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. That's genteel. That always looks like something. And afterwards?

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. I stretch—till it cracks.

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. And when it has cracked?

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. What do you mind about that?

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. What do I mind about that? What do I mind? I'd rather live till the last trump and renounce all heavenly joys than leave my Lulu deprived of anything down here behind me. What do I mind about that? It's my sympathy. To be sure, my better self is already transfigured—but I still have some sense for this world.

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. I haven't.

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. You're too well off.

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. (Shuddering.) Idiot....

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