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Destage—The old days go by, and the old loves and the old spirit. “Où sont les neiges d’antan?” I guess. (pauses unsteadily and then continues) I’ve gone far enough without him.

Lamarque—(dreamily) Far enough.

Destage—Your hand, Jacques! (They clasp hands.)

François—(wildly) Here—I, too—you won’t leave me. (feebly) I want—just one more glass—one more—

(The light fades and disappears.)

Curtain

— ◆ —

Nassau Literary Magazine (June 1915)

The hot four o’clock sun beat down familiarly upon the wide stretch of Maryland country, burning up the long valleys, powdering the winding road into fine dust and glaring on the ugly slated roof of the monastery. Into the gardens it poured hot, dry, lazy, bringing with it, perhaps, some quiet feeling of content, unromantic and cheerful. The walls, the trees, the sanded walks, seemed to radiate back into the fair cloudless sky the sweltering late summer heat and yet they laughed and baked happily. The hour brought some odd sensation of comfort to the farmer in a nearby field, drying his brow for a moment by his thirsty horse, and to the lay brother opening boxes behind the monastery kitchen.