You are a foolish old man, yourself! They have entered Belgium--do you understand--they are here already. FRANÇOIS That's not true. MAURICE Why isn't it true? FRANÇOIS Because that is impossible. The newspapers print nonsense, and they have all gone mad. Fools, and nothing more--madmen. What Prussians? Young man, you have no right to make sport of me like this. MAURICE But listen-- FRANÇOIS Prussians! What Prussians? I don't know any Prussians, and I don't want to know them. MAURICE But understand, old man, they are already bombarding Liège! FRANÇOIS No! MAURICE They have killed many people. What a strange man you are! Don't you hear the tolling of the bells? The people are on the square. They are all running. The women are crying. What is that? FRANÇOIS _Angrily._ You are stepping on the flower bed. Get off! MAURICE Don't bother me! Why are they shouting so loudly? Something has happened there. _The sound of a trumpet is heard in the distance. The shouting of the crowd is growing ever louder. Sounds of the Belgian hymn are heard faintly. Suddenly an ominous silence follows the noise, and then the lone sound of the tolling bells._ MAURICE Now they are quiet.... What does it mean? FRANÇOIS Nonsense, nonsense! _Infuriated._ You are stepping on the flower bed again. Get off! You have all lost your reason! Go, go! The Prussians!... MAURICE You have lost your reason! FRANÇOIS I am seventy years old, and you tell me about the Prussians. Go! _Again the shouting of the crowd is heard. Silvina, the chambermaid, runs out of the house and calls: "Monsieur Maurice!"_ SILVINA Please, come into the house. Madame Jeanne is calling you. Madame is going away. Please, come. MAURICE And papa? SILVINA He isn't here yet. Come! _Both move away. François sits down at the flower bed impatiently._ MAURICE You don't understand, Silvina. He does not believe that there is a war. SILVINA It is very dreadful, Monsieur Maurice. I am afraid-- _They go out. François looks after them angrily, adjusts his apron, and prepares to resume his work._ FRANÇOIS Madmen! I am seventy years old. I am seventy years old, and they want me to believe a story about Prussians. Nonsense, they are crazy! Prussians! But it is true that I don't hear anything. _Rising, he listens attentively._ No, not a sound. Or do I hear something? Oh, the devil take it! I can't hear a sound. Impossible! No, no, impossible! But what is that? How could I believe that in this calm sky--in this calm sky-- _The din of battle is growing. François listens again and hears it. He grows thoughtful. His eyes express fright. He looks as though he had suddenly solved a terrible problem. He moves to and fro, his head bent down, as though trying to catch the sounds. Suddenly he throws down the scissors. He is seized with a feeling of terror. He raises his hands._ I hear it. No. No. Now I don't hear a sound. Oh, God, give me the power to hear!