Julia. Creep around--and lock--the glass 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 lustreless. 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? Julia (_glancing back--aside to_ Pierre). Keep near the weapons! Pierre (_as_ Wittich _moves_). Hush! Wittich. You must forgive me--I only wanted to--look after--my--wife. (_Breaks down again._) Pierre (_aside to_ Julia). Why, he's quite out of his mind! Julia. Keep near the weapons! Wittich. I don't care--to settle--this matter--by means of a--so-called--affair of honour. I'm a plain man. I only know about such things from hearsay. And any way--I don't see that they help--m-matters much. (_Breaks into tearless sobs._) Pierre (_aside_). He won't hurt us.