Burgoyne, relaxing his studied demeanor for the moment, sits down and begins to read the report with knitted brows and careworn looks, reflecting on his desperate situation and Swindon’s uselessness. Richard is brought in. Judith walks beside him. Two soldiers precede and two follow him, with the sergeant in command. They cross the room to the wall opposite the door; but when Richard has just passed before the chair of state the sergeant stops him with a touch on the arm, and posts himself behind him, at his elbow. Judith stands timidly at the wall. The four soldiers place themselves in a squad near her.
BURGOYNE.
(looking up and seeing Judith). Who is that woman?
THE SERGEANT.
Prisoner’s wife, sir.
SWINDON.
(nervously). She begged me to allow her to be present; and I thought—
BURGOYNE.
(completing the sentence for him ironically). You thought it would be a pleasure for her. Quite so, quite so. (Blandly) Give the lady a chair; and make her thoroughly comfortable.
The sergeant fetches a chair and places it near Richard.
JUDITH.
Thank you, sir. (She sits down after an awe-stricken curtsy to Burgoyne, which he acknowledges by a dignified bend of his head.)
SWINDON.
(to Richard, sharply). Your name, sir?
RICHARD.
(affable, but obstinate). Come: you don’t mean to say that you’ve brought me here without knowing who I am?
SWINDON.
As a matter of form, sir, give your name.