Julia.
But I'm not reasonable! O you--you-- (_She holds out her arms to him.
He comes to her. They kiss._) More!--More!--No end!--Ah, to die!----
Pierre (_freeing himself_).
Oh!
Julia.
To die!
Pierre (_with hidden scorn_).
Yes--to die. (_Yawning nervously._) Pardon me!--It's as hot as an oven
in here.
Julia.
And the shutters are always closed! For eight long days I've seen
nothing of the sun except these streaks of light. Do open the
shutters--just once!
Pierre.
For Heaven's sake!
Julia.
Just for a second!
Pierre.
But don't you realize that the pavilion is locked and that not a soul
ever crosses the threshold?
Julia.
Oh, yes, I know--because your lovely, reckless great-grandmother lost
her life here a hundred years ago! That's one of those old-wives' tales
that everyone knows.--Who can tell? Perhaps my fate will be the same as
hers.--But do open the shutters!
Pierre.
Do be reasonable! You know that in order to come in here by the side
door without being seen I have to crawl through the woods for a hundred
yards. The same performance twice a day--for a week! Now, if I should
open the shutters and one of the gardener's men should see it, why,
he'd come, and then----
Julia.
Let him come! I'll smile at him--and he's no man if he doesn't keep
quiet after that! Why, your old gardener would cut his hand off
for me any day of his life--just for a bit of wheedling!--It can't be
helped--they all love me!
Pierre (_aside_).
Beast!
Julia.
What were you muttering then? (Pierre _throws himself down before her
and weeps._) Pierre! Crying?--Oh!--Please don't--or I'll cry too. And
my head aches so!
Pierre (_softly but nervously and with hatred_).
Do you know what I'd like to do? Strangle you!
Julia.
Ha! Ha! Ha!--(_pityingly_) Dear me! Those soft fingers--so weak!--My
little boy has read in a naughty book that people strangle their
loves--and so he wants to do some strangling too!
Pierre (_rising_).
Well, what's to become of you? How much longer is the game to last in
this pavilion?
Julia.
As long as the roses bloom--that was agreed, you know.
Pierre.
And then?
Julia.
Bah! Then!--Why think of it? I'm here now, here under the protection of
your lovely, ghostly great-grandmother. No one suspects--no one dreams!
My husband is searching for me the whole world over!--That was a clever
notion of mine--writing him from Brussels--Nora, last act, last
scene--and then coming straight back again! I'll wager he's in Paris
now, sitting at the Cafe des Anglais, and looking up and down the
street--now toward the Place de l'Opera, now toward the Madeleine. Will
you wager? I'll go you anything you say. Well, go on, wager!
Pierre.
On anything else you wish--but not on that!
Julia.
Why not?
Pierre.
Because your husband was at the castle this morning.
Julia (_rising hastily_).
My husband--was--at the castle----?
Pierre.
What's so surprising about that? He always used to come, you know--our
nearest neighbour--and all that sort of thing.
Julia.
Did he have a reason for coming?
Pierre.
A special reason?--No.
Julia.
Pierre--you're concealing something from me!
Pierre (_hesitating_).
Nothing that I know of. No.
Julia.
Why didn't you come at once? And now--why have you waited to tell me?
Pierre (_sullenly_).
You're hearing it soon enough.
Julia.
Pierre, what happened? Tell me, exactly!
Pierre.
Well, he came in the little runabout--without a groom--and asked for
mamma. I naturally pretended to be going out. But you know how she
always insists on my staying with her.
Julia.
And how was he was he--just the same as ever?
Pierre.
Oh, no, I wouldn't say that.
Julia.
How did he look? Tell me, tell me!
Pierre.
In the first place, he wore black gloves--like a gravedigger.
Julia.
Ha! Ha! And what else?
Pierre.
In the second place, he was everlastingly twitching his legs.
Julia.
And what else? What else?
Pierre.
Oh, he explained that you were at a Hungarian watering-place, that you
were improving, and that you were expected home soon. (Julia _bursts
out laughing._) Yes, (_gloomily_) it's screamingly funny, isn't it.
Julia.
So I'm at a Hungarian watering-place! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Pierre.
But he looked at me so questioningly, so--so mournfully--why, it was
really most annoying the way he looked at me.
Julia.
At a Hungarian watering-place!
Pierre.
And then, later, mamma said to him, "It's a dreadful pity your dear
wife isn't here just now. She does so love the roses."
Julia.
And what did he say?
Pierre.
"Our roses are not thriving very well this year," said he.
Julia.
But his turnips!--They always thrive!--And then----?
Pierre.
Then a strange thing occurred that I can't help worrying about.
Suddenly mamma said to him, "Something very peculiar is happening on
our estate this year. Now I can see from where I sit that the whole
place is one mass of roses. And yet, if at any time I ask for a few
more than usual, there are none to be had!"
Julia.
Why, you must have been shaking in your boots! Did you do anything to
betray us?
Pierre.
Oh, I think I know how to take care of myself!--But suddenly he grew
absolutely rigid--as if--as if he had been reflecting. He acted like a
man who sleeps with his eyes open. Mamma asked him a question three
times, and he never answered a word!
Julia.