ese turns
and throws herself into his arms.] So, so, my child, now all is well.
[Therese runs out.] Farewell, Annette.
ANNETTE. Are you going away? I don't understand all this.
DURAND. Yes, I'm going.
ANNETTE. But of course you're coming back, papa.
DURAND. Who knows whether he will live through the morrow? Anyway, we'll
say farewell.
ANNETTE. Adieu, then, father--and a good journey to you. And you won't
forget to bring something home to us just as you used to do, will you?
DURAND. And you remember that, though it's so long since I've bought
anything for you children? Adieu, Annette. [Annette goes. Durand hums to
himself.]
Through good and evil, great and small,
Where you have sown, others gather all.
[Adele comes in.] Adele, come, now you shall hear and understand. If I
speak in veiled terms, it is only to spare your conscience in having you
know too much. Be quiet. I've got the children up in their rooms. First
you are to ask me this question, "Have you a life insurance policy?"
Well?
ADELE [Questioningly and uncertain]. "Have you a life insurance policy?"
DURAND. No, I had one, but I sold it long ago, because I thought I
noticed that some one became irritable when it was due. But I have a
fire insurance. Here are the papers. Hide them well. Now, I'm going to
ask you something; do you know how many candles there are in a pound,
mass candles at seventy-five centimes?
ADELE. There are six.
DURAND [Indicating the package of candles]. How many candles are there
there?
ADELE. Only five.
DURAND. Because the sixth is placed very high up and very near--
ADELE.--Good Lord!
DURAND [Looking at his watch]. In five minutes or so, it will be burned
out.
ADELE. No!
DURAND. Yes! Can you see dawn any other way in this darkness?
ADELE. No.
DURAND. Well, then. That takes care of the business. Now about another
matter. If Monsieur Durand passes out of the world as an [Whispers]
incendiary, it doesn't matter much, but his children shall know that
he lived as a man of honor up to that time. Well, then, I was born in
France, but I didn't have to admit that to the first scamp that came
along. Just before I reached the age of conscription I fell in love with
the one who later became my wife. To be able to marry, we came here and
were naturalized. When the last war broke out, and it looked as if I
was going to carry a weapon against my own country, I went out as a
sharpshooter against th
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