The crowd falls back before him, while Iris rushes forward to the edge of the veranda and cries out to him, that he may know her presence.

He gathers a handful of mud from the street and hurls it in the direction of her voice.

"There! In your face! In your forehead! In your mouth! In your eyes! Fango!" Under the imprecations of her father the mind of Iris gives way.

She rushes along a corridor and hurls herself out of a window.
The third act is reached, and drama merges again into allegory.

In the wan light of the moon rag-pickers, men and women, are dragging their hooks through the slimy muck that flows through the open sewer beneath the fatal window.