And my eyes? That is another matter. My eyes! Why are you forever silent, François? Why should I speak if I do not hear your foolish answer? It is all nonsense--to talk and to listen. I can see more than you can hear. _Laughs._ Yes, I see this. This does not talk either, but bend down to it and you will learn more than Solomon ever knew. That is what the Bible says--Solomon. To you the earth is noise and prattle, while to me it is like a Madonna in colors upon a picture. Like a Madonna in colors. _The bell is ringing. In the distance a youthful voice calls "Papa!" "Papa!" Then, "François!" Maurice, Emil Grelieu's younger son, a youth of about 17, appears, coming quickly from the house. He calls François once more, but François does not hear. Finally he shouts right next to his ear._ MAURICE François, what is the matter with you? I am calling you. I am calling you. Haven't you seen papa? FRANÇOIS _Calmly, without turning around._ Did you call me, Maurice? I heard your call long ago. MAURICE You heard me, but did not respond. How obstinate you are! Haven't you seen papa? I am looking for him everywhere. Quick! Where is papa? FRANÇOIS Papa? MAURICE _Shouts._ Where is papa? Haven't you seen him? Silvina says he went to the hothouse. Do you hear? FRANÇOIS He is not there. I spoke to Monsieur this morning, but since then I have not seen him. No. MAURICE What is to be done? How they are tolling! François, what is to be done--do you hear them tolling? FRANÇOIS Ah! I hear. Will you take some roses, my boy? MAURICE You don't understand anything--you are beyond endurance! They are running in the streets, they are all running there, and papa is not here. I will run over there, too, at once. Perhaps he is there. What a day! FRANÇOIS Who is running? MAURICE You don't understand anything! _Shouts._ They have entered Belgium! FRANÇOIS Who has entered Belgium? MAURICE They--the Prussians. Can't you understand? It's war! War! Imagine what will happen. Pierre will have to go, and so will I go. I will not stay here under any circumstances. FRANÇOIS _Straightening himself, dropping the scissors._ War? What nonsense, my boy! Who has entered Belgium? MAURICE They--the Prussians. Pierre will go now, and I will go--I will not stay away under any circumstances, understand? What will become of Belgium now?--it is hard to conceive it. They entered Belgium yesterday--do you understand--what scoundrels! _In the distance, along the narrow streets of the town, an uneasy sound of footsteps and wheels is growing rapidly. Distinct voices and outcries blend into a dull, suppressed, ominous noise, full of alarm. The tolling, as though tired, now subsides, now turns almost to a shriek. François tries vainly to hear something. Then he takes up the scissors again angrily._ MAURICE François! FRANÇOIS _Sternly._ That's all nonsense! What are you prating, my boy? There is no war--that is impossible. MAURICE