MAURICE
You don't understand, Silvina. He does not believe that there is a war.
SILVINA
It is very dreadful, Monsieur Maurice. I am afraid—
They go out. François looks after them angrily, adjusts his apron, and prepares to resume his work.
FRANÇOIS
Madmen! I am seventy years old. I am seventy years old, and they want me to believe a story about Prussians. Nonsense, they are crazy! Prussians! But it is true that I don't hear anything.
Rising, he listens attentively.
No, not a sound. Or do I hear something? Oh, the devil take it! I can't hear a sound. Impossible! No, no, impossible! But what is that? How could I believe that in this calm sky—in this calm sky—
The din of battle is growing. François listens again and hears it. He grows thoughtful. His eyes express fright. He looks as though he had suddenly solved a terrible problem. He moves to and fro, his head bent down, as though trying to catch the sounds. Suddenly he throws down the scissors. He is seized with a feeling of terror. He raises his hands.