Roses: Four One-Act Plays - BestLightNovel.com
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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.
s.h.!.+ s.h.!.+ (_Approaches him cautiously, then softly._) There's a man--out there.
Pierre.
Where?
Julia.
Hus.h.!.+ 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?
