Persomé. Leave you with—
Bishop. Please! My friend and I can talk more—freely then.
(By this time, owing to his starving condition the wine has affected him).
Convict. What's that? Leave us. Yes, yes, leave us. Good night. I want to talk to the Bishop. The Bishop. Ha! ha! (laughs as he drinks and coughs)
Bishop. Good night, Persomé. (he holds the door open and she goes out R. holding in her skirts as she passes the Convict).
Convict. (chuckling to himself) The Bishop. Ha! ha! Well I'm—(suddenly very loudly) D'you know what I am?
Bishop. I think one who has suffered much.
Convict. Suffered (puzzled) suffered? My God, yes. (drinks) But that's a long time ago. Ha! ha! That was when I was a man, now I'm not a man; now I'm a number: number 15729 and I've lived in Hell for ten years.
Bishop. Tell me about it—about Hell.
Convict. Why? (suspiciously) Do you want to tell the police—to set them on my track.
Bishop. No! I will not tell the police.
Convict (looks at him earnestly) I believe you (scratching his head), but damn me if I know why.
Bishop. (laying his hand on the Convict's arm) Tell me about the time—the time before you went to—Hell.
Convict. It's so long ago I forgot but I had a little cottage, there were vines growing on it (dreamily) they looked pretty with the evening sun on them and, and—there was a woman—she was (thinking hard)—she must have been my wife—yes. (suddenly and very rapidly) Yes, I remember! she was ill, we had no food, I could get no work, it was a bad year, and my wife, my Jeanette was ill, dying (pause) so I stole to buy
