Our soldiers. They were coming from there--where the battle raged for four days. There were not many of them--about a hundred or two hundred. But we all--there were so many people in the streets--we all stepped back to the wall in order to make way for them. Emil, just think of it; how strange! They did not see us, and we would have been in their way! They were black from smoke, from mud, from dried blood, and they were swaying from fatigue. They were all thin--as consumptives. But that is nothing, that is all nothing. Their eyes--what was it, Emil? They did not see their surroundings, they still reflected that which they had seen there--fire and smoke and death--and what else? Some one said: "Here are people returning from hell." We all bowed to them, we bowed to them, but they did not see that either. Is that possible, Emil? EMIL GRELIEU Yes, Jeanne, that is possible. PIERRE And he will go to that inferno? _Silence. Emil Grelieu walks over to his wife and kisses her hand. She looks at his head with a smile. Suddenly she rises._ JEANNE Forgive me; there is something else I must say-- _She moves quickly and lightly, but suddenly, as though stumbling over an invisible obstacle, falls on one knee. Then she tries to rise, kneels, pale and still smiling, bending to one side. They rush over to her and lift her from the ground._ PIERRE Mamma! Mamma! EMIL GRELIEU You have a headache? Jeanne, my dearest, what ails you? _She pushes them aside, stands up firmly, trying to conceal her nervousness._ JEANNE What is it? What? Don't trouble, Emil! My head? No, no! My foot slipped--you know, the one that pained me. You see, I can walk now. EMIL GRELIEU A glass of water, Pierre. JEANNE What for? How absurd! _But Pierre had already gone out. Jeanne sits down, hangs her head, as one guilty, endeavoring not to look into his eyes._ JEANNE What an excitable youth--your Pierre! Did you hear what he said? EMIL GRELIEU _Significantly._ Jeanne! JEANNE What? No, no--why do you look at me this way? No--I am telling you. _Pierre brings her water, but Jeanne does not drink it._ JEANNE Thank you, Pierre, but I don't want it. _Silence._ How fragrant the flowers are. Pierre, please give me that rose--yes, that one. Thank you. How fresh it is, Emil, and what a fine fragrance--come over here, Emil! _Emil Grelieu goes over to her and kisses the hand in which she holds the rose. Looks at her._ JEANNE _Lowering her hand._ No; I have asked for this flower simply because its fragrance seems to me immortal--it is always the same--as the sky. How strange it is, always the same. And when you bring it close to your face, and close to your eyes, it seems to you that there is nothing except this red rose and the blue sky. Nothing but the red rose and the distant, pale--very pale--blue sky.... EMIL GRELIEU