—Don't touch, don't touch the flowers, girls.
[They utter a low and suppressed laugh.
—Oh my! Oh my!
[The drunkards have all gone. Their places are taken by the Old Women. The light grows steady and very faint. The figure of the Unknown is sharply outlined, and so is Man's gray head, on which a, faint light falls from above.
OLD WOMEN'S CONVERSATION.
—Good evening.
—Good evening. What a splendid night!
—Here we are together again. How are you feeling?
—I cough a little.
[They laugh suppressedly.