I wanted to stop her, Monsieur Pierre, but it is impossible to stop her. If we close the door before her the poor girl beats her head against the walls, like a bird in a cage. Poor girl!
Dries her tears. François enters from the garden and occupies himself again with the flowers. He glances at the girl from time to time. It is evident that he is making painful efforts to hear and understand what is going on.
GIRL
It is time for me to go.
JEANNE
Rest yourself, here, my child! Why should you leave? At night it is so terrible on the roads. There, in the dark air, bullets are buzzing instead of our dear bees; there wicked people, vicious beasts are roaming. And there is no one who can tell you, for there is no one who knows how to go to Lonua.
GIRL
Don't you know how I could find my way to Lonua?
PIERRE
Softly.