Prostitute. Keep still. [She points to the Beggar.] He will chase the boy away. They believe the boy is born of the Devil.
Drunkard. Who made him boss here? All of us are children of the Devil. [He calls to the boy as one calls to a dog.] Come here, you.
[A dumb boy, all in rags, drags himself near. He makes noises like a little beast. He trembles with cold. The Prostitute tries to quiet him.]
Prostitute. He lies the whole night behind his mother's doorstep. She is afraid of her husband. Sometimes she gives him a piece of bread, when no one looks. Thus he crawls like a worm in the street—human flesh and blood.
Drunkard. Let him come near the fire—so. [He pushes the boy nearer to the fire.] Give him a piece of bread. I'll take care of any one who tries to hurt him.
Beggar [awaking]. No. That's too much. Who brought this here? You know that the Devil is in him?
[Tries to chase the boy away.]
Prostitute [hiding the boy in her shawl]. Have pity.
Beggar. You're the Devil's wife. That's why you pity his child.
[Tries to reach the boy.]