The Grandfather. Prepare for the truth.
The Uncle. But there is no truth!
The Grandfather. Then I do not know what there is!
The Uncle. I tell you there is nothing at all!
The Grandfather. I wish I could see my poor daughter!
The Father. But you know quite well it is impossible; she must not be awakened unnecessarily.
The Uncle. You will see her to-morrow.
The Grandfather. There is no sound in her room.
The Uncle. I should be uneasy if I heard any sound.
The Grandfather. It is a very long time since I saw my daughter!... I took her hands yesterday evening, but I could not see her!... I do not know what has become of her.... I do not know how she is.... I do not know what her face is like now.... She must have changed these weeks!... I felt the little bones of her cheeks under my hands.... There is nothing but the darkness between her and me, and the rest of you!... I cannot go on living like this ... this is not living.... You sit there, all of you, looking with open eyes at my dead eyes, and not one of you has pity on me!... I do not know what ails me.... No one tells me what ought to be told me.... And everything is terrifying when one's dreams dwell upon it.... But why are you not speaking?
The Uncle. What should we say, since you will not believe us?
The Grandfather. You are afraid of betraying yourselves!
The Father. Come now, be rational!
The Grandfather. You have been hiding something from me for a long time!... Something has happened in the house.... But I am beginning to understand now.... You have been deceiving me too long!—You fancy that I shall never know anything?—There are moments when I am less blind than you, you know!... Do you think I have not heard you whispering—for days and days—as if you were in the house of some one who had been hanged—I dare not say what I know this evening.... But I shall know the truth!... I shall wait for you to tell me the truth; but I have known it for a long time, in spite of you!—And now, I feel that you are all paler than the dead!
The Three Daughters. Grandfather! grandfather! What is the matter, grandfather?
The Grandfather. It is not you that I am speaking of, girls. No; it is not you that I am speaking of.... I know quite well you would tell me the truth—if they were not by!... And besides, I feel sure that they are deceiving you as well.... You will see, children—you will see!... Do not I hear you all sobbing?
The Father. Is my wife really so ill?
The Grandfather. It is no good trying to deceive me any longer; it is too late now, and I know the truth better than you!...
The Uncle. But we are not blind; we are not.
The Father. Would you like to go into your daughter's room? This misunderstanding must be put an end to.—Would you?
The Grandfather [becoming suddenly undecided]. No, no, not now—not yet.
The Uncle. You see, you are not reasonable.
The Grandfather. One never knows how much a man has been unable to express in his life!... Who made that noise?
The Eldest Daughter. It is the lamp flickering, grandfather.
The Grandfather. It seems to me to be very unsteady—very!
The Daughter. It is the cold wind troubling it....
The Uncle. There is no cold wind, the windows are shut.
The Daughter. I think it is going out.
The Father. There is no more oil.
The Daughter. It has gone right out.
The Father. We cannot stay like this in the dark.
The Uncle. Why not?—I am quite accustomed to it.
The Father. There is a light in my wife's room.
The Uncle. We will take it from there presently, when the doctor has been.
The Father. Well, we can see enough here; there is the light from outside.
The Grandfather. Is it light outside?
The Father. Lighter than here.
The Uncle. For my part, I would as soon talk in the dark.
The Father. So would I. [Silence.]
The Grandfather. It seems to me the clock makes a great deal of noise....
The Eldest Daughter. That is because we are not talking any more, grandfather.
The Grandfather. But why are you all silent?
The Uncle. What do you want us to talk about?—You are really very peculiar to-night.
The Grandfather. Is it very dark in this room?
The Uncle. There is not much light. [Silence.]
The Grandfather. I do not feel well, Ursula; open the window a little.
The Father. Yes, child; open the window a little. I begin to feel the want of air myself. [The girl opens the window.]
The Uncle. I really believe we have stayed shut up too long.
The Grandfather. Is the window open?
The Daughter. Yes, grandfather; it is wide open.
The Grandfather. One would not have thought it was open; there was not a sound outside.
The Daughter. No, grandfather; there is not the slightest sound.
The Father. The silence is extraordinary!
The Daughter. One could hear an angel tread!
The Uncle. That is why I do not like the country.
The Grandfather. I wish I could hear some sound. What o'clock is it, Ursula?
The Daughter. It will soon be midnight, grandfather. [Here the Uncle begins to pace up and down the room.]
The Grandfather. Who is that walking round us like that?
The Uncle. Only I! only I! Do not be frightened! I want to walk about a little. [Silence.]—But I am going to sit down again;—I cannot see where I am going. [Silence.]
The Grandfather. I wish I were out of this place.
The Daughter. Where would you like to go, grandfather?
The Grandfather. I do not know where—into another room, no matter where! no
