THE MIRACLE
OF SAINT ANTHONY
THE MIRACLE OF SAINT ANTHONY
The entrance-hall of a large old-fashioned house. Front-door on the left. At the back, a few steps with on the left a glass door with lace curtains, leading to the dining-room, and on the right a fair of folding glass doors, also with lace curtains, leading to the drawing-room. Against the wall, a leather-covered bench, one or two wooden stools and an umbrella-stand with hats and coats on it.
The curtain rises on Virginie, the old servant. Her skirts are pinned up, showing her bare legs and sabots; she is surrounded with brass pails, swabbing-cloths, brooms and scrubbing-brushes and is busily washing the flagstones composing the floor. She stops working from time to time, blows her nose noisily and wipes away a big tear.
There is a ring at the front-door. Virginie half opens it, revealing on the threshold a long lean old man, barefoot, bareheaded, with tangled hair and beard, and clad in a sort of frieze habit of faded brown, muddy, out of shape and patched.
Virginie
(Holding the door ajar.) This is the thirty-sixth time that I’ve been to the door.... Another beggar! Well, what is it?