Julia. And how was he was he--just the same as ever? Pierre. Oh, no, I wouldn't say that. Julia. How did he look? Tell me, tell me! Pierre. In the first place, he wore black gloves--like a gravedigger. Julia. Ha! Ha! And what else? Pierre. In the second place, he was everlastingly twitching his legs. Julia. And what else? What else? Pierre. Oh, he explained that you were at a Hungarian watering-place, that you were improving, and that you were expected home soon. (Julia _bursts out laughing._) Yes, (_gloomily_) it's screamingly funny, isn't it. Julia. So I'm at a Hungarian watering-place! Ha! Ha! Ha! Pierre. But he looked at me so questioningly, so--so mournfully--why, it was really most annoying the way he looked at me. Julia. At a Hungarian watering-place! Pierre. And then, later, mamma said to him, "It's a dreadful pity your dear wife isn't here just now. She does so love the roses." Julia. And what did he say? Pierre. "Our roses are not thriving very well this year," said he. Julia. But his turnips!--They always thrive!--And then----? Pierre. Then a strange thing occurred that I can't help worrying about. Suddenly mamma said to him, "Something very peculiar is happening on our estate this year. Now I can see from where I sit that the whole place is one mass of roses. And yet, if at any time I ask for a few more than usual, there are none to be had!" Julia. Why, you must have been shaking in your boots! Did you do anything to betray us? Pierre. Oh, I think I know how to take care of myself!--But suddenly he grew absolutely rigid--as if--as if he had been reflecting. He acted like a man who sleeps with his eyes open. Mamma asked him a question three times, and he never answered a word! Julia. I say, did you come here to frighten me? Pierre (_bursting out_).