earch takes time, in default
of my gold ring I don't disdain a few cigar stumps....

STRANGER. I don't know whether this beggar's cynical or mad.

BEGGAR. I don't know either.

STRANGER. Do you know who I am?

BEGGAR. No. And it doesn't interest me.

STRANGER. Well, interest commonly comes afterwards.... You see you tempt
me to take the words out of your mouth. And that's the same thing as
picking up other people's cigars.

BEGGAR. So you won't follow my example?

STRANGER. What's that scar on your forehead?

BEGGAR. I got it from a near relation.

STRANGER. Now you frighten me! Are you real? May I touch you? (He
touches his arm.) There's no doubt of it.... Would you deign to accept
a small coin in return for a promise to seek Polycrates' ring in another
part of the town? (He hands him a coin.) Post nummos virtus.... Another
echo. You must go at once.

BEGGAR. I will. But you've given me far too much. I'll return
three-quarters of it. Now we owe one another nothing but friendship.

STRANGER. Friendship! Am I a friend of yours?

BEGGAR. Well, I am of yours. When one's alone in the world one can't be
particular.

STRANGER. Then let me tell you you forget yourself...

BEGGAR. Only too pleased! But when we meet again I'll have a word of
welcome for you. (Exit.)

STRANGER (sitting down again and drawing in the dust with his stick).
Sunday afternoon! A long, dank, sad time, after the usual Sunday dinner
of roast beef, cabbage and watery potatoes. Now the older people are
testing, the younger playing chess and smoking. The servants have gone
to church and the shops are shut. This frightful afternoon, this day of
rest, when there's nothing to engage the soul, when it's as hard to meet
a friend as to get into a wine shop. (The LADY comes back again, she
is noun wearing a flower at her breast.) Strange! I can't speak without
being contradicted at once!

LADY. So you're still here?

STRANGER. Whether I sit here, or elsewhere, and write in the sand
doesn't seem to me to matter--as long so I write in the sand.

LADY. What are you writing? May I see?

STRANGER. I think you'll find: Eve 1864.... No, don't step on it.

LADY. What happens then?

STRANGER. A disaster for you... and for me.

LADY. You know that?

STRANGER. Yes, and more. That the Christmas rose you're wearing is a
mandragora. Its symbolical meaning is malice and calumny; but it was
once used in medicine for the healing of madness. Will you gi