Act Fifth
[A corridor, so long that its furthest arches seem to lose themselves in a kind of indoor horizon. The sisters of Palomides wait before one of the innumerable closed doors that open into this corridor. They seem to be guarding it. A little further down, on the opposite side, Astolaine and the Physician converse before another door, also closed.]
ASTOLAINE.
[To the Physician.] Nothing has ever happened until now in this palace, where all things have seemed to be asleep since my sisters died; and my poor old father, pursued by a strange restlessness, has fretted without reason at this calm, which seems, for all that, the least dangerous form of happiness. Some time ago,—his reason beginning to totter even then,—he went up to the top of a high tower; and as he stretched his arms out timidly toward the forests and toward the sea, he said to me—smiling a little fearfully at his words, as if to disarm my incredulous smile—that he called about us events which had long been hidden beneath the horizon. They have come, alas! sooner and more in number than he expected, and a few days have sufficed for them to reign in his stead. He has been their first victim. He fled to the meadows, singing, all in tears, the evening when he had little Alladine and luckless Palomides taken down into the crypts. He has not since been seen. I have had search made everywhere throughout the country and even on the sea. He has not been found. At least, I had hoped to save those he made suffer unwittingly, for he has always been the tenderest of men and the best of fathers; but there, too, I think I came too late. I do not know what happened. They have not spoken yet. They doubtless must have thought, hearing the sound of the iron and seeing all at once the light again, that my father had regretted the kind of surcease he had granted them, and that some one came to bring them death. Or else they slipped as they drew back, upon the rock that overhangs the lake; and so must have fallen through heedlessness. But the water is not deep in that spot, and we succeeded in saving them without difficulty. To-day it is you alone who can do the rest. [THE SISTERS OF PALOMIDES have drawn nearer.
The Physician
They are both ailing with the same disease, and it is a disease I do not know.—But I have little hope left. They were seized perhaps with the cold of the underground waters; or else those waters may be poisonous. The decomposed body of Alladine’s lamb was found there.—I will come back to-night.—Meanwhile they must have silence…. The level of life is very low in their hearts…. Do not go into their rooms and do not speak to them, for the least word, in the state they are in, might cause their death…. They must succeed in forgetting one another. [Exit.
One of the Sisters of Palomides
I see that he will die.
Astolaine
No, no…. Do not weep;… one does not die so, at his age….
Another Sister
But why is your father angry without reason at my poor brother?
Third Sister
I think your father loved Alladine.
Astolaine
Do not speak so of it…. He thought I suffered. He thought to have done good, and he did evil unwittingly…. That often happens to us…. It is my fault, perhaps…. I recall it to-day…. One night I was asleep. I was weeping in a dream…. We have little courage when we dream. I waked…. He was beside my bed, looking at me…. Perhaps he was deceived….
FOURTH SISTER (running).
Alladine has stirred a little in her room….
Astolaine
Go to the door … listen…. Perhaps it was the nurse rising….
FIFTH SISTER (listening at the door).
No, no; I hear the nurse walking…. There is another noise.
SIXTH SISTER (also running).
I think Palomides has moved too; I hear the murmur of a voice seeking….
The Voice of Alladine
[Very feebly, within the room.] Palomides!…
One of the Sisters
She is calling him!…
Astolaine
Let us be careful!… Go, go in front of the door, that Palomides may not hear….
The Voice of Alladine
Palomides!
Astolaine
My God! My God! Silence that voice!… Palomides will die of it if he hear it!…
The Voice of Palomides
[Very feebly, within the other room.] Alladine!…
One of the Sisters
He answers!…
Astolaine
Three among you remain here,… and we will go to the other door. Come, come quickly. We will surround them. We will try to defend them…. Lie back against the doors…. Perhaps they will hear no longer….
One of the Sisters
I shall go into Alladine’s room….
Second Sister
Yes, yes; prevent her from crying out again.
Third Sister
She is already cause of all this evil….
Astolaine
Do not go in, or I go in to Palomides…. She also had a right to life; and she has done nought but to live…. But that we cannot stifle in their passage their deadly words!… We are without help, my poor sisters, my poor sisters, and hands cannot stop souls!…
The Voice of Alladine
Palomides, is it thou?
The Voice of Palomides
Where art thou, Alladine?
The Voice of Alladine
Is it thou whom I hear far from me making moan?
The Voice of Palomides
Is it thou whom I hear calling, and see thee not?
The Voice of Alladine
One would believe thy voice had lost the last of hope….
The Voice of Palomides
One would believe that thine had crossed the winds of death….
The Voice of Alladine
It goes hard with thy voice to pierce into my room….
The Voice of Palomides
And I no longer hear thy voice as of old time.
The Voice of Alladine
I have been woe for thee!…
The Voice of Palomides
They have divided us, but I do love thee ever….
The Voice of Alladine
I have been woe for thee…. Art then still suffering?
The Voice of Palomides
No; I no longer suffer, but I =fain= would see thee….
The Voice of Alladine
We shall not see each other more; the doors are shut….
The Voice of Palomides
Thy voice would make one say thou lovedst me no more….
The Voice of Alladine
Yes, yes; I love thee still, but it is mournful now….
The Voice of Palomides
Whither is thy face turned? I hardly understand thee….
The Voice of Alladine
We seem to be an hundred leagues from one another….
The Voice of Palomides
I try to rise in vain; my spirit is too heavy….
The Voice of Alladine
I too would come,—I too—but still my head falls back….
The Voice of Palomides
Thou seemest almost to speak in tears despite thyself….
The Voice of Alladine
No; I wept long ago; it is no longer tears….
The Voice of Palomides
There’s something in thy thoughts thou dost not tell me of….
The Voice of Alladine
They were not precious stones….
The Voice of Palomides
And the flowers were not real….
One of the Sisters of Palomides
They rave….
Astolaine
No, no; they know what they are saying….
The Voice of Alladine
It was the light that had no pity on us….
The Voice of Palomides
Where goest thou, Alladine? Thou’rt being borne away….
The Voice of Alladine
I have no more regret to lose the light o’ the sun….
The Voice of Palomides
Yes, yes; we shall behold the sweet green things again!…
The Voice of Alladine
I have lost desire to live….
[A silence; then more and more faintly:]
The Voice of Palomides
Alladine!…
The Voice of Alladine
Palomides!…
The Voice of Palomides
Alla … dine!…
[A silence.—Astolaine and the sisters of Palomides listen, in anguish. Then the nurse opens, from the inside, the door of Palomides’ room, appears on the sill, makes a sign, and all enter the room. The door doses behind them. A new silence. A little afterwards, the door of Alladine’s room opens in its turn; the other nurse comes out in like manner, looks about in the corridor, and, seeing no one, re-enters the room, leaving the door wide open.]
[CURTAIN.]
Home.
To Mademoiselle Sara de Swart.
Persons.
In the Garden
THE OLD MAN.
THE STRANGER.
MARTHA } granddaughters of the old man.
AND MARY, }
A PEASANT.
THE CROWD.
In the House
THE FATHER, }
THE MOTHER, } Silent characters.
THE TWO DAUGHTERS,}
THE CHILD, }
Home.
[An old garden, planted with willows. At the back, a house in which three windows on the ground-floor are lighted. A family, sitting up under the lamp, is seen rather distinctly. The father is seated by the fireside. The mother, one elbow on the table, is staring into space. Two young girls, clad in white, embroider, dream, and smile in the quiet of the room. A child lies asleep with his head under the mother’s left arm. Whenever one of them rises, walks, or makes a gesture, his movements seem to be grave, slow, rare, and, as it were, spiritualized by the distance, the light, and the vague veil of the windows. The old man and the stranger enter the garden cautiously.]
The Old Man
We are in the part of the garden behind the house. They never come here. The doors are on the other side.—They are closed, and the shutters are up. But there are no shutters on this side, and I saw a light…. Yes; they are sitting up still under the lamp. It is fortunate they have not heard us; the mother or the young girls would have come out, perhaps, and then what should we have done?…
The Stranger
What are we going to do?
The Old Man
I should like to see, first, if they are all in the room. Yes, I see the father sitting in the chimney-corner. He waits, with his hands on his knees;… the mother is resting her elbow on the table.
The Stranger
She is looking at us….
The Old Man
No; she doesn’t know where she is looking: her eyes do not wink. She cannot see us; we are in the shade of great trees. But do not go any nearer…. The two sisters of the dead girl are in the room too. They are embroidering slowly; and the little child is asleep. It is nine by the clock in the corner…. They suspect nothing, and they do not speak.
The Stranger
If one could draw the father’s attention, and make him some sign? He has turned his head this way. Would you like me to knock at one of the windows? One of them ought to be told before the others….
The Old Man
I don’t know which one to choose…. We must take great precautions…. The father is old and ailing…. So is the mother; and the sisters are too young…. And they all loved her with such love as will never be again…. I never saw a happier household…. No, no, do not go near the window; that would be worse than anything else…. It is better to announce it as simply as possible,—as if it were an ordinary event,—and not to look too sad; for otherwise their grief will wish to be greater than yours and will know of nothing more that it can do…. Let us go on the other side of the garden. We will knock at the door and go in as if nothing had happened. I will go in first: they will not be surprised to see me; I come sometimes in the evening, to bring them flowers or fruit, and pass a few hours with them.
The Stranger
Why must I go with you? Go alone; I will wait till I am called…. They have never seen me…. I am only a passer-by; I am a stranger….
The Old Man
It is better not to be alone. A sorrow that one does not bring alone is not so unmixed nor so heavy…. I was thinking of that as we were coming here…. If I go in alone, I shall have to be speaking from the first minute; in a few words they will know everything, and I shall have nothing more to say; and I am afraid of the silence following the last words that announce a woe…. It is then the heart is rent…. If we go in together, I shall tell them, for example, after going a long way about, “She was found so…. She was floating in the river, and her hands were clasped.”…
The Stranger
Her hands were not clasped; her arms were hanging down along her body.
The Old Man
You see, one speaks in spite of oneself…. And the sorrow is lost in the details;… but otherwise, if I go in alone, at the first words, knowing them as I do, it would be dreadful, and God knows what might happen…. But if we speak in turn, they will listen to us and not think to look the ill news in the face…. Do not forget the mother will be there, and that her life hangs by a thread…. It is good that the first wave break on some unnecessary words…. There should be a little talking around the unhappy, and they should have people about them…. The most indifferent bear unwittingly a part of the grief…. So, without noise or effort, it divides, like air or light….
The Stranger
Your clothes are wet through; they are dripping on the flagstones.
The Old Man
It is only the bottom of my cloak that dipped in the water.—You seem to be cold. Your chest is covered with earth…. I did not notice it on the road on account of the darkness….
The Stranger
I went into the water up to my waist.
The Old Man
Was it long after you found her when I came?
The Stranger
A few minutes, barely. I was going toward the village; it was already late, and the bank was getting dark. I was walking with my eyes fixed on the river because it was lighter than the road, when I saw something strange a step or two from a clump of reeds…. I drew near and made out her hair, which had risen almost in a circle above her head, and whirled round, so, in the current.
[In the room, the two young girls turn their heads toward the window.]
The Old Man
Did you see the two sisters’ hair quiver on their shoulders?
The Stranger
They turned their heads this way…. They simply turned their heads. Perhaps I spoke too loud. [The two young girls resume their former position.] But they are already looking no longer…. I went into the water up to my waist and I was able to take her by the hand and pull her without effort to the shore…. She was as beautiful as her sisters are.
The Old Man
She was perhaps more beautiful…. I do not know why I have lost all courage….
The Stranger
What courage are you talking of? We have done all man could do…. She was dead more than an hour ago….
The Old Man
She was alive this morning!… I met her coming out of church…. She told me she was going away; she was going to see her grandmother on the other side of the river where you found her…. She did not know when I should see her again…. She must have been on the point of asking me something; then she dared not and left me abruptly. But I think of it now…. And I saw nothing!… She smiled as they smile who choose to be silent, or who are afraid they will not be understood…. She seemed hardly to hope…. Her eyes were not clear and hardly looked at me….
The Stranger
Some peasants told me they had seen her wandering on the river-bank until nightfall…. They thought she was looking for flowers…. It may be that her death….
The Old Man
We cannot tell…. What is there we can tell?… She was perhaps of those who do not wish to speak, and every one of us bears in himself more than one reason for no longer living…. We cannot see in the soul as we see in that room. They are all like that…. They only say trite things; and no one suspects aught…. You live for months by some one who is no longer of this world and whose soul can bend no longer; you answer without thinking; and you see what happens…. They look like motionless dolls, and, oh, the events that take place in their souls!… They do not know themselves what they are…. She would have lived as the rest live…. She would have said up to her death: “Monsieur, Madame, we shall have rain this morning,” or else, “We are going to breakfast; we shall be thirteen at table,” or else: “The fruits are not yet ripe.” They speak with a smile of the flowers that have fallen, and weep in the dark…. An angel even would not see what should be seen; and man only understands when it is too late…. Yesterday evening she was there, under the lamp like her sisters, and you would not see them as they should be seen, if this had not occurred…. I seem to see her now for the first time…. Something must be added to common life before we can understand it…. They are beside you day and night, and you perceive them only at the moment when they depart forever…. And yet the strange little soul she must have had; the poor, naïve, exhaustless little soul she had, my son, if she said what she must have said, if she did what she mast have done!…
The Stranger
Just now they are smiling in silence in the room….
The Old Man
They are at peace…. They did not expect her to-night….
The Stranger
They smile without stirring;… and see, the father is putting his finger on his lips….
The Old Man
He is calling attention to the child asleep on its mother’s heart….
The Stranger
She dares not raise her eyes lest she disturb its sleep….
The Old Man
They are no longer working…. A great silence reigns….
The Stranger
They have let fell the skein of white silk….
The Old Man
They are watching the child….
The Stranger
They do not know that others are watching them….
The Old Man
We are watched too….
The Stranger
They have lifted their eyes….
The Old Man
And yet they can see nothing….
The Stranger
They seem happy; and yet nobody knows what may be—….
The Old Man
They think themselves in safety…. They have shut the doors; and the windows have iron bars…. They have mended the walls of the old house; they have put bolts upon the oaken doors…. They have foreseen all that could be foreseen….
The Stranger
We must end by telling them…. Some one might come and let them know abruptly…. There was a crowd of peasants in the meadow where the dead girl was found…. If one of them knocked at the door…
The Old Man
Martha and Mary are beside the poor dead child. The peasants were to make a litter of leaves; and I told the elder to come warn us in all haste, the moment they began their march. Let us wait till she comes; she will go in with me…. We should not have looked on them so…. I thought it would be only to knock upon the door; to go in simply, find a phrase or two, and tell…. But I have seen them live too long under their lamp….
Enter MARY.
Mary
They are coming, grandfather.
The Old Man
Is It you?—Where are they?
Mary
They are at the foot of the last hills.
The Old Man
They will come in silence?
Mary
I told them to pray in a low voice. Martha is with them….
The Old Man
Are they many?
Mary
The whole village is about the bearers. They had brought lights. I told them to put them out….
The Old Man
Which way are they coming?
Mary
They are coming by the footpaths. They are walking slowly….
The Old Man
It is time….
Mary
You have told them, grandfather?
The Old Man
You see plainly we have told them nothing…. They are waiting still under the lamp…. Look, my child, look! You will see something of life….
Mary
Oh, how at peace they seem!… You would say I saw them in a dream….
The Stranger
Take care, I saw both sisters give a start….
The Old Man
They are getting up….
The Stranger
I think they are coming to the windows….
[At this moment, one of the two sisters of whom they speak draws near the first window, the other near the third, and, pressing their hands at the same time against the panes, look a long while into the darkness.]
The Old Man
No one comes to the window in the middle….
Mary
They are looking…. They are listening….
The Old Man
The elder smiles at what she does not see.
The Stranger
And the other has eyes full of fearfulness….
The Old Man
Take care; we do not know how far the soul extends about men….
[A long silence, MARY cowers against the old man’s breast and kisses him.]
Mary
Grandfather!…
The Old Man
Do not weep, my child…. We shall have our turn…. [A silence.
The Stranger
They are looking a long while….
The Old Man
They might look a hundred thousand years and not perceive anything, the poor little sisters…. The night is too dark…. They are looking this way; and it is from that way the misfortune is coming….
The Stranger
It is fortunate they look this way…. I do not know what that is coming toward us, over by the meadows.
Mary
I think it is the crowd…. They are so far away you can hardly make them out….
The Stranger
They follow the undulations of the path…. Now they appear again on a hillside in the moonlight….
Mary
Oh, how many they seem!… They had already run up from the suburbs of the city when I came…. They are going a long way around….
The Old Man
They will come in spite of all; I see them too…. They are on the march across the meadow lands…. They seem so small you hardly make them out among the grasses…. They look like children playing in the moonlight; and if the girls should see them, they would not understand…. In vain they turn their backs; those yonder draw near with every step they take, and the sorrow has been growing these two hours already. They cannot hinder it from growing; and they that bear it there no longer can arrest it…. It is their master too, and they must serve it…. It has its end and follows its own road…. It is unwearying and has but one idea…. Needs must they lend their strength. They are sad, but they come…. They have pity, but they must go forward….
Mary
The elder smiles no longer, grandfather….
The Stranger
They leave the windows….
Mary
They kiss their mother….
The Stranger
The elder has caressed the curls of the child without waking him….
Mary
Oh! the father wants to be kissed too….
The Stranger
And now silence….
Mary
They come back beside the mother….
The Stranger
And the father follows the great pendulum of the clock with his eyes….
Mary
You would say they were praying without knowing what they did….
The Stranger
You would say that they were listening to their souls…. [A silence.
Mary
Grandfather, don’t tell them to-night!…
The Old Man
You see, you too lose courage…. I knew well that we must not look. I am nearly eighty-three years old, and this is the first time the sight of life has struck me. I do not know why everything they do seems so strange and grave to me…. They wait for night quite simply, under their lamp, as we might have been waiting under ours; and yet I seem to see them from the height of another world, because I know a little truth which they do not know yet…. Is it that, my children? Tell me, then, why you are pale, too? Is there something else, perhaps, that cannot be told and causes us to weep? I did not know there was anything so sad in life, nor that it frightened those who looked upon it…. And nothing can have occurred that I should be afraid to see them so at peace…. They have too much confidence in this world…. There they are, separated from the enemy by a poor window…. They think nothing will happen because they have shut the door, and do not know that something is always happening in our souls, and that the world does not end at the doors of our houses…. They are so sure of their little life and do not suspect how many others know more of it than they; and that I, poor old man,—I hold here, two steps from their door, all their little happiness, like a sick bird, in my old hands I do not dare to open….
Mary
Have pity, grandfather….
The Old Man
We have pity on them, my child, but no one has pity on us….
Mary
Tell them to-morrow, grandfather; tell them when it is light…. They will not be so sorrowful….
The Old Man
Perhaps you are right, my child…. It would be better to leave all this in the night. And the light is sweet to sorrow…. But what would they say to us to-morrow? Misfortune renders jealous; they whom it strikes, wish to be told before strangers; they do not like to have it left in the hands of those they do not know…. We should look as if we had stolen something….
The Stranger
There is no more time, besides; I hear the murmur of prayers already….
Mary
There they are…. They are passing behind the hedges….
Enter MARTHA.
Martha
Here I am. I have brought them this far. I have told them to wait on the road. [Cries of children heard.] Ah! the children are crying again…. I forbade their coming…. But they wanted to see too, and the mothers would not obey…. I will go tell them…. No; they are silent.—Is everything ready?—I have brought the little ring that was found on her…. I have some fruit, too, for the child…. I laid her out myself on the litter. She looks as if she were asleep…. I had a good deal of trouble; her hair would not obey…. I had some marguerites plucked…. It is sad, there were no other flowers…. What are you doing here? Why are you not by them?… [She looks at the windows.] They do not weep?… They … you have not told them?
The Old Man
Martha, Martha, there is too much life in your soul; you cannot understand….
Martha
Why should I not understand?… [After a silence and in a tone of very grave reproach.] You cannot have done that, grandfather….
The Old Man
Martha, you do not know….
Martha
I will tell them.
The Old Man
Stay here, my child, and look at them a moment.
Martha
Oh, how unhappy they are!… They can wait no longer.
The Old Man
Why?
Martha
I do not know;… it is no longer possible!…
The Old Man
Come here, my child….
Martha
How patient they are!
The Old Man
Come here, my child….
Martha
[Turning.] Where are you, grandfather? I am so unhappy I cannot see you any more…. I do not know what to do myself any more….
The Old Man
Do not look at them any more; till they know all….
Martha
I will go in with you….
The Old Man
No, Martha, stay here…. Sit beside your sister, on this old stone bench, against the wall of the house, and do not look…. You are too young; you never could forget…. You cannot know what a face is like at the moment when death passes before its eyes…. There will be cries, perhaps…. Do not turn round…. Perhaps there will be nothing…. Above all, do not turn if you hear nothing…. One does not know the course of grief beforehand…. A few little deep-rooted sobs, and that is all, usually…. I do not know myself what I may do when I shall hear them…. That belongs no longer to this life…. Kiss me, my child, before I go away….
[The murmur of prayers has gradually drawn nearer. Part of the crowd invades the garden. Dull steps heard, running, and low voices speaking.]
THE STRANGER (to the crowd).
Stay here;… do not go near the windows…. Where is she?…
A Peasant
Who?
The Stranger
The rest … the bearers?…
The Peasant
They are coming by the walk that leads to the door.
[The old man goes away. Martha and Mary are seated on the bench, with their backs turned to the windows. Murmurs in the crowd.]
The Stranger
S—t!… Do not speak.
[The elder of the two sisters rises and goes to bolt the door….]
Martha
She opens it?
The Stranger
On the contrary, she is shutting it. [A silence.
Martha
Grandfather has not entered?
The Stranger
No…. She returns and sits down by her mother…. The others do not stir, and the child sleeps all the time…. [A silence.
Martha
Sister, give me your hands….
Mary
Martha!… [They embrace and give each other a kiss.
The Stranger
He must have knocked…. They have all raised their heads at the same time;… they look at each other….
Martha
Oh! oh! my poor little sister!… I shall cry too!… [She stifles her sobs on her sister’s shoulder.
The Stranger
He must be knocking again…. The father looks at the clock. He rises.
Martha
Sister, sister, I want to go in too…. They cannot be alone any longer….
Mary
Martha! Martha!… [She holds her back.
The Stranger
The father is at the door…. He draws the bolts…. He opens the door prudently….
Martha
Oh!… you do not see the…
The Stranger
What?
Martha
Those who bear….
The Stranger
He hardly opens it…. I can only see a corner of the lawn; and the fountain…. He does not let go the door;… he steps back…. He looks as if he were saying: “Ah, it’s you!”… He raises his arms…. He shuts the door again carefully…. Your grandfather has come into the room….
[The crowd has drawn nearer the windows. Martha and Mary half rise at first, then draw near also, clasping each other tightly. The old man is seen advancing into the room. The two sisters of the dead girl rise; the mother rises as well, after laying the child carefully in the armchair she has just abandoned; in such a way that from without the little one may be seen asleep, with his head hanging a little to one side, in the centre of the room. The mother advances to meet the old man and extends her hand to him, but draws it back before he has had time to take it. One of the young girls offers to take off the visitor’s cloak and the other brings forward a chair for him; but the old man makes a slight gesture of refusal. The father smiles with a surprised look. The old man looks toward the windows.]
The Stranger
He dares not tell them…. He has looked at us…. [Rumors in the crowd.
The Stranger
S … t!…
[The old man, seeing their faces at the windows, has quickly turned his eyes away. As one of the young girls continues to offer him the same armchair, he ends by sitting down and passes his right hand across his forehead several times.]
The Stranger
He sits down….
[The other people in the room sit down also, while the father talks volubly. At last the old man opens his mouth, and the tone of his voice seems to attract attention. But the father interrupts him. The old man begins to speak again, and little by little the others become motionless. All at once, the mother starts and rises.]
Martha
Oh! the mother is going to understand!…
[She turns away and hides her face in her hands. New murmurs in the crowd. They elbow each other. Children cry to be lifted up, so that they may see too. Most of the mothers obey.]
The Stranger
S … t!… He has not told them yet….
[The mother is seen to question the old man in anguish. He says a few words more; then abruptly all the rest rise too and seem to question him. He makes a slow sign of affirmation with his head.]
The Stranger
He has told them…. He has told them all at once!…
Voices in the Crowd
He has told them!… He has told them!…
The Stranger
You hear nothing….
[The old man rises too, and, without turning, points with his finger to the door behind him. The mother, the father, and the two young girls throw themselves on this door, which the father cannot at once succeed in opening. The old man tries to prevent the mother from going out.]
Voices in the Crowd
They are going out! They are going out!…
[Jostling in the garden. All rush to the other side of the house and disappear, with the exception of the stranger, who remains at the windows. In the room, both sides of the folding-door at last open; all go out at the same time. Beyond can be seen a starry sky, the lawn and the fountain in the moonlight, while in the middle of the abandoned room the child continues to sleep peacefully in the armchair.—Silence.]
The Stranger
The child has not waked!… [He goes out also.
[CURTAIN.]