_Spacious window, from which one sees an expanse of snow-clad roofs. On left, a fireplace, a table, small cupboard, a little book-case, four chairs, a picture easel, a bed, a few books, many packs of cards, two candlesticks. Door in the middle, another on left._ _Curtain rises quickly_ RUDOLPH and MARCEL. RUDOLPH _looks pensively out of the window._ MARCEL _works at his painting, "The Passage of the Red Sea," with hands nipped with cold, and warms them by blowing on them from time to time, often changing position on account of the frost._ MAR. (_seated, continuing to paint_) This Red Sea passage feels as damp and chill to me As if adown my back a stream were flowing. (_Goes a little way back from the easel to look at the picture._) But in revenge a Pharaoh will I drown. (_Turning to his work._) And you? (to RUDOLPH) RUD. (_pointing to the tireless stove_) Lazily rising, see how the smoke From thousands of chimneys floats upward! And yet that stove of ours No fuel seems to need, the idle rascal, Content to live in ease, just like a lord! MAR. 'Tis now a good, long while since we paid his lawful wages. RUD. Of what use are the forests all white under the snow? MAR. Now Rudolph, let me tell you A fact that overcomes me, I'm simply frozen! RUD. (_approaching_ MARCEL) And I, Marcel, to be quite candid, I've no faith in the sweat of my brow. MAR. All my fingers are frozen Just as if they'd been touching that iceberg, Touching that block of marble, the heart of false Musetta. (_Heaves a long sigh, laying aside his palette and brushes, and ceases painting.)_ RUD. Ah! love's a stove consuming a deal of fuel! MAR. Too quickly. RUD. Where the man does the burning. MAR. And the woman the lighting. RUD. While the one turns to ashes. MAR. So the other stands and watches. RUD. Meanwhile, in here we're frozen. MAR. And we're dying of hunger. RUD. A fire must be lighted. MAR. (_seizing a chair and about to break it up_) I have it, This crazy chair shall save us! (_RUDOLPH energetically resists_ MARCEL'S _project_.) RUD. (_joyous at an idea that has seized him_) Eureka! (_Runs to the table and from below it lifts a bulky manuscript._) MAR. You've found it? RUD. Yes. When genius is roused ideas come fast in flashes. MAR. (_pointing to his picture_) Let's burn up the "Red Sea." RUD. No: think what a stench 'twould occasion! But my drama, my beautiful drama shall give us warmth. MAR. (_with comic terror_) Intend you to read it? Twill chill us! RUD. No. The paper in flame shall be burning, The soul to its heaven returning. (_with tragic emphasis_) Great loss! but the world yet must bear it, When Rome is in peril! MAR. Great soul! RUD. (_giving _MARCEL_ a portion of the MS._) Here, take the first act. MAR. Well? RUD. Tear it. MAR. And light it.