[The young foreigner shivers suddenly from head to foot; then
controls himself with a great effort.]
FERRAND. Don't say that, Monsieur! It is too much the echo of my heart.
WELLWYN. Forgive me! I didn't mean to pain you.
FERRAND. [Drawing nearer the fire.] That old cabby, Monsieur, you remember—they tell me, he nearly succeeded to gain happiness the other day.
[WELLWYN nods.]
FERRAND. And those Sirs, so interested in him, with their theories?
He has worn them out? [WELLWYN nods.] That goes without saying.
And now they wish for him the lethal chamber.
WELLWYN. [Startled.] How did you know that?
[There is silence.]
FERRAND. [Staring into the fire.] Monsieur, while I was on the road this time I fell ill of a fever. It seemed to me in my illness that I saw the truth—how I was wasting in this world—I would never be good for any one—nor any one for me—all would go by, and I never of it—fame, and fortune, and peace, even the necessities of life, ever mocking me.
[He draws closer to the fire, spreading his fingers to the flame. And while he is speaking, through the doorway MRS. MEGAN creeps in to listen.]