THE WOMAN (_speaks, her arms hanging by her sides. Her head is thrown slightly back. Her words come slowly. Her voice is as the sound of a solemn sea plunging in distant caverns_). The hour of my agony is upon me. I am beset. My strength is great, my courage greater, and my pride reaches to the stars. But I have mighty foes, skilled in all cruel arts. I suffer. I dwell in the shadow of pain. My woes increase and the issue is doubtful. (_She stretches her hands towards Anthony._) Can you remain aloof? ANTHONY (_frowning_). This touches me not. THE WOMAN (_with irony_). Have you, then, purified your heart of all compassion? (_Anthony shrugs his shoulders with a gesture of indifference._) Are you, indeed, amongst the noblest of my offspring? My sons have sacrificed life for me: they have been content to forgo their ardent curiosities for my sake. What holds you back? ANTHONY (_with great dignity_). I seek union with God. The Devil himself tempted me for many days. He failed. How, then, can you succeed? (_Softly._) You cannot, even if you be he. THE WOMAN (_flinging her arms apart, and letting them drop heavily_). Shame cannot move you. But he who aids me receives great rewards. I will show you visions. (_She waves her hand. A cloud descends, swaying slowly in the air. It unwinds in sluggish masses till it fills the horizon. It glows with pale fire. Upon it are cities and wide plains. It is a very clean, neat, and precise land. Rivers wind gently between ploughed fields, red and brown. The cloud surges nearer, and presently Anthony discerns an immense temple shining in the sun. It approaches more quickly, its crystalline walls sending innumerable shafts of light before it. Anthony and his companion are enveloped in an insupportable radiance, and the next instant they find they are within the building. Facing them is a great altar, its gold shining dully in the light of a thousand lighted candles. The flags of France droop motionless about the altar; upon it the carved figure of a soldier lies prone. The pavement of the temple is invisible under the feet of the silent crowd. Mighty columns rush upward and are lost in the sweep of the dim roof. The air begins to pulsate with the heavy notes of an organ. Anthony and The Woman are floating above the heads of the multitude. None have observed them._) THE WOMAN (_motioning to the crowd_). Here are assembled rich and poor, wise men and fools; judges, statesmen, poets, the criminal and the peasant. All France is here, united in a common gratitude. ANTHONY. What do they? THE WOMAN. They honour the dead. (_She points to the prone figure on the altar._) The soldiers who saved France. (_A trumpet note is heard and the air rustles with the inclining of a myriad heads. A sweet singing arises behind the altar. A procession slowly passes before it. The first to pass is a man beyond middle age, with a grave, bearded face, a broad white forehead and serene eyes. He kneels for an instant and passes on._)