Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays. Various

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      The Father. Where could we go?

      The Uncle. It is too late to go anywhere else. [Silence. They are sitting, motionless, round the table.]

      The Grandfather. What is that I hear, Ursula?

      The Daughter. Nothing, grandfather; it is the leaves falling.—Yes, it is the leaves falling on the terrace.

      The Grandfather. Go and shut the window, Ursula.

      The Daughter. Yes, grandfather. [She shuts the window, comes back, and sits down.]

      The Grandfather. I am cold. [Silence. The Three Sisters kiss each other.] What is that I hear now?

      The Father. It is the three sisters kissing each other.

      The Uncle. It seems to me they are very pale this evening. [Silence.]

      The Grandfather. What is that I hear now, Ursula?

      The Daughter. Nothing, grandfather; it is the clasping of my hands. [Silence.]

      The Grandfather. And that?...

      The Daughter. I do not know, grandfather ... perhaps my sisters are trembling a little?...

      The Grandfather. I am afraid, too, my children. [Here a ray of moonlight penetrates through a corner of the stained glass, and throws strange gleams here and there in the room. A clock strikes midnight; at the last stroke there is a very vague sound, as of some one rising in haste.]

      The Grandfather [shuddering with peculiar horror]. Who is that who got up?

      The Uncle. No one got up!

      The Father. I did not get up!

      The Three Daughters. Nor I!—Nor I!—Nor I!

      The Grandfather. Some one got up from the table!

      The Uncle. Light the lamp!... [Cries of terror are suddenly heard from the child's room, on the right; these cries continue, with gradations of horror, until the end of the scene.]

      The Father. Listen to the child!

      The Uncle. He has never cried before!

      The Father. Let us go and see him!

      The Uncle. The light! The light! [At this moment, quick and heavy steps are heard in the room on the left.—Then a deathly silence.—They listen in mute terror, until the door of the room opens slowly; the light from it is cast into the room where they are sitting, and the Sister of Mercy appears on the threshold, in her black garments, and bows as she makes the sign of the cross, to announce the death of the wife. They understand, and, after a moment of hesitation and fright, silently enter the chamber of death, while the Uncle politely steps aside on the threshold to let the three girls pass. The blind man, left alone, gets up, agitated, and feels his way round the table in the darkness.]

      The Grandfather. Where are you going?—Where are you going?—The girls have left me all alone!

      [Curtain.]

INTERLUDE

       Table of Contents

By Federico More

       Translated from the Spanish by Audrey Alden.

       Table of Contents

      Copyright, 1920, by Stewart & Kidd Company. All rights reserved.

PERSONS

The Marquise. The Poet.

      Application for permission to produce Interlude must be addressed to Pierre Loving,

       in care of Messrs. Stewart & Kidd Co., Cincinnati, Ohio.

INTERLUDE

       Table of Contents

      By Federico More

      Scene: A Salon.

      Marquise [entering].

      It is chic yet full of peril to be a marquise, betrothed

       And on the brim of nineteen, with two whole years'

       Devotion at the convent behind her. Well may the man

       I am to marry place his faith in me.

       And yet, I am obsessed with the sweet indecision

       Of having met a poet who will shrive me in verse,

       Drape my life with the vigor of his youth

       Yet never kiss me.

      Poet [entering].

      I was looking for you, madame.

      Marquise.

      Well, here I am.

      Poet.

      Does the dance tire you or the music displease?

      Marquise.

      It has never before displeased me, and yet—now—

      Poet.

      In a life

       Happy as yours, joy is reborn,

       Your moods are versatile, and charming, marquise....

       Bad humor de luxe ... perhaps mere caprice....

      Marquise.

      Perhaps mere caprice ... perhaps; but I am prey

       To something more profound, something warmer....

      Poet.

      Have I not told you

       That in happy lives such as your high-placed life

       There is nothing of ennui, nothing to lead astray,

       Nothing to spur you on, nothing to unfold,

       Nor any dim wraith stalking by your side?

      Marquise.

      Ah, you have uttered my thought. I feel as though a ghost walked with me.

      Poet.

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