Pierre.
Seize the opportunity--and go.
Julia.
Where?
Pierre.
To the gardener's house--quick--before he comes back.
Julia.
In broad daylight--half dressed as I am?
Pierre.
Throw on a wrap--anything--hurry! (_Knocking at the door on the left.
They both stand rooted to the spot. The knocking is repeated. Then_
Pierre, _in a choking voice_) Come in.
(Wittich _enters. He is a large, burly man of about forty, whose whole
appearance betrays neglect; his sandy-coloured hair is pushed back from
his forehead in damp strands; his beard is straggling and unkempt; his
face is haggard and perspiring, his eyes lustreless. He staggers
heavily in walking. He speaks in a stammering, hesitating voice; he
gives the impression, in sum, of a man who is deathly ill, but is
making an intense effort to hold himself together._)
Wittich.
I beg your pardon if I am disturbing you. (_Both stare at him without
venturing to move._)
Pierre (_taking heart_).