Scaevola. Oh, indeed. (Goes up to him.) Very glad to know you. My name is Scaevola.
Grain. My name is Grain.
[Jules has been walking around in the room the whole time, frequently standing still, like a man tortured inwardly.]
Host. What ails you, Jules?
Jules. I am learning my part.
Host. What?
Jules. Remorse. Tonight I am playing a man who is a prey to remorse. Look at me. What do you think of the furrow in the forehead here? Do I not look as though all the furies of hell—(Walks up and down.)
Scaevola (roars). Wine—wine, here!
Host. Calm yourself.... There is no audience yet.
Enter Henri and Léocadie.