Oh, God, be pitiful, be pitiful!
Brander (standing in front of her).
Look here, we’ve had enough of this music. I’ve been watching you, and there’s more upon your mind than sorrow for the dead. Why were you so anxious to wheedle us all out of the house? Tarrasch has warned you there’ll be hell to pay when the others come back. What was the game, eh? You’d better tell me. You couldn’t have thought you were going to escape through our lines to-night.
(There is a sudden uproar outside, and a woman’s scream, followed by the terrified cry of a child.)
Ah! Ah! Father!
Brander.
Hear that. The men are mad with brandy and blood and—other things. There’s no holding them in, even from the children. You needn’t wince. Even from the children, I say. What chance would there be for a fine-looking wench like yourself?
No, you were not going to try that. You’ve something to hide, here, in the house, eh? Well, now you’ve got rid of the others, and we’ve had a drink, we’re going to look for it. What is there?
(He points to the bedroom door.)