More, Pierre?
PIERRE
Yes,—his life. You love him; you, yourself, would die if he were killed—tell him that, mother!
JEANNE
Yes, I love him. I love you, too.
PIERRE
Oh, what are we, Maurice and I? But he! Just as they have no right to destroy temples in war or to bum libraries, just as they have no right to touch the eternal, so he—he—has no right to die. I am speaking not as your son, no; but to kill Emil Grelieu—that would be worse than to bum books. Listen to me! You have brought me into this world. Listen to me!—although I am young and should be silent—Listen to me! They have already robbed us. They have deprived us of our land and of the air; they have destroyed our treasures which have been created by the genius of our people, and now we would cast our best men into their jaws! What does that mean? What will remain of us? Let them kill us all, let our land be turned into a waste desert, let all living creatures be burned to death, but as long as he lives, Belgium is alive! What is Belgium without him? Oh, do not be silent, mother! Tell him!
Silence.
EMIL GRELIEU
Somewhat sternly.