Nanette. Of course not. That is why every one made fun of him. But he went on building it just the same. It was scaled so that he was a giant in it. There were little houses and little walks and little boats sailing on lakes two feet across. The geraniums were great trees, his pet turtle was like a prehistoric monster, and the hollyhocks pierced heaven itself. When people told him that no one could really enjoy such a garden he said that the ants could, and they ought to appreciate a little beauty because they were always so busy.
Robert. That was like Maurice. How vast the sky must have seemed to him who loved minute shadowy things!
Nanette. He was always timid. Everything violent frightened him. They made him positively ill. And how he dreaded the sea! Do you remember how Madame tried to get him to swim?
Robert. But he did learn to swim finally.
Nanette. Yes. But he told me one day—"Nanette, when I hear the surf my whole body shakes with fear. I feel as if some terrible giant were calling me. I hate the great sea."
Robert. And he fell into the sea, didn't he?
Nanette. Two thousand feet.
Robert. What he must have endured all alone!
Nanette. No one can know.
[After a pause.]