MAURICE
They—the Prussians. Pierre will go now, and I will go—I will not stay away under any circumstances, understand? What will become of Belgium now?—it is hard to conceive it. They entered Belgium yesterday—do you understand—what scoundrels!
In the distance, along the narrow streets of the town, an uneasy sound of footsteps and wheels is growing rapidly. Distinct voices and outcries blend into a dull, suppressed, ominous noise, full of alarm. The tolling, as though tired, now subsides, now turns almost to a shriek. François tries vainly to hear something. Then he takes up the scissors again angrily.
MAURICE
François!
FRANÇOIS
Sternly.
That's all nonsense! What are you prating, my boy? There is no war—that is impossible.
MAURICE
You are a foolish old man, yourself! They have entered Belgium—do you understand—they are here already.