Louis. They are on the lower stairs. [He turns to the two women humbly.] My sister and my cousin, my poor plans have only made everything worse for you. I cannot ask you to forgive me. We are caught.
Anne [vitalized with the energy of desperation]. Not till the very last shred of hope is gone. [She springs to the desk and begins to tear the discarded sheets into minute fragments.] Is that door fastened?
Louis. They'll break it down, of course.
Anne. Where is our passport from Paris?
Louis. Here. [He gives it to her.]
Anne. Quick! Which of these "permits" is the best?
Louis. They're all hopeless—[He fumbles among the sheets on the desk.]
Anne. Any of them. We can't stop to select. [She thrusts the passport and a haphazard sheet from the desk into the bosom of her dress. An orderly tramping of heavy shoes and a clinking of metal become audible as the soldiers ascend the upper flight of stairs.]
Eloise. All this is childish. [Haughtily.] I shall merely announce—
Anne [uttering a half-choked scream of rage]. You'll announce nothing! Out of here, both of you!