_He tries again to catch the fleeting sounds, his head bent, his neck outstretched. His hair is disheveled. His eyes stare. Suddenly, by a great effort, he hears the tolling of the bells and voices full of despair. He retreats and raises his hands again._ My God! They are tolling! They are crying! War! What war? What war? Eh, who is there--who is shouting "War!"? _The sound of the bells and the cries grows louder. Emil Grelieu appears, walking quickly in the alley_. EMIL GRELIEU What are you shouting, François? Where is Maurice? No one is in the house. FRANÇOIS Is it war? EMIL GRELIEU Yes, yes, it is war. The Prussians have entered Belgium. But you don't hear anything. FRANÇOIS _Painfully trying to catch the sounds._ I hear, I hear; are they killing? EMIL GRELIEU Yes, they are killing. The Prussians have entered Belgium. Where is Maurice? FRANÇOIS But, Monsieur Emil--but, Monsieur, what Prussians? Pardon me; I am seventy years old, and I lost my sense of hearing long ago. _Weeps._ Is it really a war? EMIL GRELIEU Yes, it is a real war. I can't understand it either. But the fighting has already commenced. I can't realize it myself, but it is war, old man. FRANÇOIS Tell me, Monsieur. Tell me about it. I believe you as I believe God. Tell me. I can hear you. Are they killing? EMIL GRELIEU It is war! What horror, François. It is very hard to understand it--yes, very hard. _Frowns and rubs his high, pale forehead nervously_. FRANÇOIS _Bent, weeps, his head shaking._ And the flowers? Our flowers? EMIL GRELIEU _Absentmindedly._ Our flowers? Don't cry, François--ah, what is that? _The tolling of the bells subsides. The crying and the shouting of the crowd changes, into a harmonious volume of sound--somebody is hailed in the distance. An important announcement seems to have been made there_. EMIL GRELIEU _Absentmindedly._ Our people are expecting the King there--he is on his way to Liège! Yes, yes-- _Silence. Suddenly there is a sound like the crash of thunder. Then it changes into a song--the crowd is singing the Belgian hymn._ _Curtain_ SCENE II _The reception hall in Emil Grelieu's villa. Plenty of air, light, and flowers. Large, windows overlooking the garden in bloom. One small window is almost entirely covered with the leaves of vines._ _In the room are Emil Grelieu and his elder son, Pierre, a handsome, pale, and frail-looking young man. He is dressed in military uniform. They pace up and down the room slowly. It is evident that Pierre is anxious to walk faster, but out of respect for his father he slackens his pace._ EMIL GRELIEU How many kilometers? PIERRE Twenty-five or thirty kilometers to Tirlemont--and here-- EMIL GRELIEU Seventy-four or five-- PIERRE Seventy-five--yes, about a hundred kilometers. It's not far, father. EMIL GRELIEU Not far. It seemed to me that I heard cannonading. I heard it last night. PIERRE No, it's hardly possible. EMIL GRELIEU