THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. Whither is thy face turned? I hardly understand thee.... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. We seem to be an hundred leagues from one another.... THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. I try to rise in vain; my spirit is too heavy.... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. I too would come,--I too--but still my head falls back.... THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. Thou seemest almost to speak in tears despite thyself.... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. No; I wept long ago; it is no longer tears.... THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. There's something in thy thoughts thou dost not tell me of.... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. They were not precious stones.... THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. And the flowers were not real.... ONE OF THE SISTERS OF PALOMIDES. They rave.... ASTOLAINE. No, no; they know what they are saying.... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. It was the light that had no pity on us.... THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. Where goest thou, Alladine? Thou'rt being borne away.... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. I have no more regret to lose the light o' the sun.... THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. Yes, yes; we shall behold the sweet green things again!... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. I have lost desire to live.... [_A silence; then more and more faintly:_] THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. Alladine!... THE VOICE OF ALLADINE. Palomides!... THE VOICE OF PALOMIDES. Alla ... dine!... [A silence.--Astolaine and the sisters of Palomides listen, in anguish. Then the nurse opens, from the inside, the door of Palomides' room, appears on the sill, makes a sign, and all enter the room. The door doses behind them. A new silence. A little afterwards, the door of Alladine's room opens in its turn; the other nurse comes out in like manner, looks about in the corridor, and, seeing no one, re-enters the room, leaving the door wide open.] [CURTAIN.] Home. _To Mademoiselle Sara de Swart._ Persons. IN THE GARDEN. THE OLD MAN. THE STRANGER. MARTHA } _granddaughters of the old man._ AND MARY, } A PEASANT. THE CROWD. IN THE HOUSE THE FATHER, } THE MOTHER, } _Silent characters._ THE TWO DAUGHTERS,} THE CHILD, } Home. * * * * * [An old garden, planted with willows. At the back, a house in which three windows on the ground-floor are lighted. A family, sitting up under the lamp, is seen rather distinctly. The father is seated by the fireside. The mother, one elbow on the table, is staring into space. Two young girls, clad in white, embroider, dream, and smile in the quiet of the room. A child lies asleep with his head under the mother's left arm. Whenever one of them rises, walks, or makes a gesture, his movements seem to be grave, slow, rare, and, as it were, spiritualized by the distance, the light, and the vague veil of the windows. The old man and the stranger enter the garden cautiously.] THE OLD MAN.