Even that would be dangerous. If some one happened to be looking this way and saw the movement----

Julia (_going to the door_).

One has to do it slowly, ve-ry slow-ly-- (_She starts, uttering a low cry of fear, and retreats to the foreground, her arms outstretched as if she were warding off a ghost._)

Pierre.

What's the matter?

Julia.

Sh! Sh! (_Approaches him cautiously, then softly._) There's a man--out there.

Pierre.

Where?

Julia.

Hush! Come here you can see it against the light. (_They cautiously change places_. Pierre _utters a low shriek, then_ Julia, _softly, despairingly_) Pierre!

Pierre.

It must be the gardener.

Julia.

It's not--the--gardener.

Pierre.

Who is it then?

Julia.

Creep around--and lock--the gla.s.s door.

Pierre (_weak from fright_).

I can't.

Julia.

Then I will. (_She has taken but a few steps toward the door when the streaks of light again become visible._) He's gone now!

Pierre.

How--gone?

Julia.

There--there--nothing----

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 l.u.s.treless. 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_).

Oh--p-p-please----

Wittich.

I see you were about to make coffee. Really--I don't want to----

Pierre (_stammering_).

P-p-please--th-there's no--hurry----

Wittich.

Well, then we may as well--settle--our affair--first. (Julia, _who has been standing quite still, panting, utters a low groan. At the sound of her voice_, Wittich _catches his breath as if suffocating, then sinks into one of the chairs at the left and stares vacantly at the floor._)

Pierre (_edging up to_ Julia _then softly_).

Can you understand this?