Yes, I was mistaken. But the rays of the searchlights could be seen. They must be very powerful searchlights. Mamma saw them too. PIERRE Really? You are suffering from insomnia again, father? EMIL GRELIEU I sleep well. A hundred kilometers--a hundred kilometers-- _Silence. Pierre looks at his father attentively._ PIERRE Father! EMIL GRELIEU Well? It's too early for you, Pierre--you have three hours yet before your train starts. I am watching the time. PIERRE I know, father. No, I am thinking of something else--. Father, tell me, have you still any hopes? _Silence._ I am hesitating, I feel somewhat embarrassed to speak to you--you are so much wiser, so far above me, father.... Yes, yes, it's nonsense, of course, but that which I have learned in the army during these days gives me very little hope. They are coming in such a compact mass of people, of iron, machines, arms and horses, that there is no possibility of stopping them. It seems to me that seismographs must indicate the place over which they pass--they press the ground with such force. And we are so few in number! EMIL GRELIEU Yes, we are very few in number. PIERRE Very, very few, father! Dreadfully few! Even if we were invulnerable and deathless, even if we kept killing them off day and night, day and night, we would drop from fatigue and exhaustion before we stopped them. But we are mortal--and they have terrible guns, father! You are silent? You are thinking of our Maurice--I have caused you pain? EMIL GRELIEU There is little of the human in their movements. Do not think of Maurice--he will live. A human being has a face, Pierre. Every human being has his own face, but they have no faces. When I try to picture them to myself, I see only the lights, projectors, automobiles--those terrible guns--and something walking, walking. And those vulgar mustaches of Wilhelm--but that is a mask, an immobile mask, which has stood over Europe for a quarter of a century--what is behind it? Those vulgar mustaches--and suddenly so much misery, so much bloodshed and destruction! It is a mask! PIERRE _Almost to himself._ If there were only not so many of them, not so many--. Father, I believe that Maurice will live. He is a lucky boy. But what does mamma think about it? EMIL GRELIEU What mamma thinks? _Enter François. Sternly, without looking at anyone, he waters the flowers._ And what does he think? Look at him. PIERRE He can hardly hear anything. François! EMIL GRELIEU