THE UNCLE. You ought to rely on us, then, who can see. She looked very well this afternoon. She is sleeping quietly now; and we are not going to spoil, without any reason, the first comfortable evening that luck has thrown in our way.... It seems to me we have a perfect right to be easy, and even to laugh a little, this evening, without apprehension.
THE FATHER. That"s true; this is the first time I have felt at home with my family since this terrible confinement.
THE UNCLE. When once illness has come into a house, it is as though a stranger had forced himself into the family circle.
THE FATHER. And then you understood, too, that you should count on no one outside the family.
THE UNCLE. You are quite right.
THE GRANDFATHER. Why could I not see my poor daughter to-day?
THE UNCLE. You know quite well--the doctor forbade it.
THE GRANDFATHER. I do not know what to think....
THE UNCLE. It is absurd to worry.
THE GRANDFATHER [_pointing to the door on the left_]. She cannot hear us?
THE FATHER. We shall not talk too loud; besides, the door is very thick, and the Sister of Mercy is with her, and she is sure to warn us if we are making too much noise.
THE GRANDFATHER [_pointing to the door on the right_]. He cannot hear us?
THE FATHER. No, no.
THE GRANDFATHER. He is asleep?
THE FATHER. I suppose so.
THE GRANDFATHER. Someone had better go and see.
THE UNCLE. The little one would cause _me_ more anxiety than your wife. It is now several weeks since he was born, and he has scarcely stirred. He has not cried once all the time! He is like a wax doll.
THE GRANDFATHER. I think he will be deaf--dumb too, perhaps--the usual result of a marriage between cousins.... [_A reproving silence._]
THE FATHER. I could almost wish him ill for the suffering he has caused his mother.
THE UNCLE. Do be reasonable; it is not the poor little thing"s fault.
He is quite alone in the room?
THE FATHER. Yes; the doctor does not wish him to stay in his mother"s room any longer.
THE UNCLE. But the nurse is with him?
THE FATHER. No; she has gone to rest a little; she has well deserved it these last few days. Ursula, just go and see if he is asleep.
THE ELDEST DAUGHTER. Yes, father. [_THE THREE SISTERS get up, and go into the room on the right, hand in hand._]
THE FATHER. When will your sister come?
THE UNCLE. I think she will come about nine.
THE FATHER. It is past nine. I hope she will come this evening, my wife is so anxious to see her.
THE UNCLE. She is certain to come. This will be the first time she has been here?
THE FATHER. She has never been into the house.
THE UNCLE. It is very difficult for her to leave her convent.
THE FATHER. Will she be alone?
THE UNCLE. I expect one of the nuns will come with her. They are not allowed to go out alone.
THE FATHER. But she is the Superior.
THE UNCLE. The rule is the same for all.
THE GRANDFATHER. Do you not feel anxious?
THE UNCLE. Why should we feel anxious? What"s the good of harping on that? There is nothing more to fear.
THE GRANDFATHER. Your sister is older than you?
THE UNCLE. She is the eldest of us all.
THE GRANDFATHER. I do not know what ails me; I feel uneasy. I wish your sister were here.
THE UNCLE. She will come; she promised to.
THE GRANDFATHER. I wish this evening were over!
[_THE THREE DAUGHTERS come in again._]
THE FATHER. He is asleep?
THE ELDEST DAUGHTER. Yes, father; very sound.
THE UNCLE. What shall we do while we are waiting?
THE GRANDFATHER. Waiting for what?
THE UNCLE. Waiting for our sister.
THE FATHER. You see nothing coming, Ursula?
THE ELDEST DAUGHTER [_at the window_]. Nothing, father.
THE FATHER. Not in the avenue? Can you see the avenue?