The Surgeon (opening the door). I don't know. Look! the rows of beds, and the quiet men who are lying in them. The nobility of France? Those painted and befrilled lords and ladies were no whit more noble than are these! (He pauses.) The King's anteroom! It is more that now than it ever was!
The Visitor (understanding). Waiting to meet His Majesty.
The Surgeon (closing the door quietly). I didn't know you were a poet. But it doesn't need much of this atmosphere to change a man's view of life. It's intoxicating. (He turns.) From these windows you could have watched the Catholics murdering the Huguenots three hundred and fifty years ago. Twenty years later you would have seen a Huguenot king going to sleep in this room. Why, I could talk about the place for hours! What wonderful men and women have sat where we are sitting! What a glorious company has passed through these moldering doors! What ghosts hover about us while we speak! (The Visitor starts violently.)
The Suregeon. What is it?
The Visitor. I thought I heard something.
The Surgeon (smiling). They are friendly ghosts. (Shrewdly.) But you said before that you didn't believe in them.
The Visitor. Neither I do.
