THE DAUGHTER. How did you expect it to be?
THE BILLPOSTER. How?—Well, I couldn't tell exactly——
THE DAUGHTER. I can tell you! You had expected it to be what it was not. It had to be green, but not that kind of green.
THE BILLPOSTER. You have it, madam. You understand it all—and that is why everybody goes to you with his worries. If you would only listen to me a little also——
THE DAUGHTER. Of course, I will!—Come in to me and pour out your heart. [She goes into the lodge.
[THE BILLPOSTER remains outside, speaking to her. The stage is darkened again. When the light is turned on, the tree has resumed its leaves, the monk's-hood is blooming once more, and the sun is shining on the green space beyond the passageway.
THE OFFICER enters. Now he is old and white-haired, ragged, and wearing worn-out shoes. He carries the bare remnants of the rose stems. Walks to and fro slowly, with the gait of an aged man. Reads on the posted bill.
A BALLET GIRL comes in from the right.
THE OFFICER. Is Miss Victoria gone?
THE BALLET GIRL. No, she has not gone yet.
THE OFFICER. Then I shall wait. She will be coming soon, don't you think?
THE BALLET GIRL. Oh, yes, I am sure.