ACT III
Scene: A large conservatory lighted by gas. A tiny fountain playing in the center of a basin; furniture, chairs, clumps of shrubbery; large plants behind which one might easily slip and hide.
(The Duchess and Mme. de Céran enter, right. They look about stealthily and consult together in low tones.)
Duchess. No one?
Mme. de Céran. No one.
Duchess. Good! (She walks toward the center of the stage, then pauses) Three headaches!
Mme. de Céran. It’s atrocious that I should be forced to leave the poet to——
Duchess. Oh, well, your poet is reading his poetry! A poet who can read his poems is happy enough!
Mme. de Céran. But Roger’s conduct has disturbed me! I have never seen him act that way. What are you doing there, Aunt?
Duchess. I’m stopping the water so that I can hear better, my dear.
Mme. de Céran. Why?
Duchess. So that I can hear better, my dear!
Mme. de Céran. He is in the garden somewhere—following her, watching for her. What will happen?—Oh, the poor little thing!—Why, Duchess! You are putting out the gas!
Duchess. No, I’m only turning it down.
Mme. de Céran. Why?
Duchess. So that I can see better, my dear!
Mme. de Céran. So—?
Duchess. Heavens, the less we are seen the more we’ll see. Three headaches,—and only one rendezvous! Aren’t you beginning to see, my dear?
Mme. de Céran. But what I can’t understand is that Monsieur Bellac——
Duchess. And what I can’t understand is that Suzanne——
Mme. de Céran. Oh, she!
Duchess. She? Well, you’ll see! They may come now as soon as they wish: everything’s ready.
Mme. de Céran. If Roger finds them here together, he might——
Duchess. Bah! Wait till you see! Wait until you see!
Mme. de Céran. But——
Duchess. Shh! Didn’t you hear something?
Mme. de Céran. Yes!
Duchess. (Pushing Madame de Céran toward the plant at the right, down-stage) Just in time!—Come!
Mme. de Céran. What, you are going to listen?
Duchess. (Hidden) I should think so! There is nothing else to be done but to listen! There! In that corner we’ll be snug as weasels. If it becomes necessary, we can come out, rest assured of that! Has somebody come in?
(Jeanne enters quietly.)
Mme. de Céran. (Looking through the branches which hide her) Yes!
Duchess. Which of the two?
Mme. de Céran. It is she!
Duchess. Suzanne?
Mme. de Céran. No! She’s not in décolletée. It’s someone else!
Duchess. Someone else? Who?
Mme. de Céran. I can’t distinguish!
Jeanne. But come on, Paul!
Mme. de Céran. The little Sub-prefect’s wife!
Duchess. Again!
(Paul enters, right, at the back.)
Jeanne. What on earth are you doing to that door?
Paul. (Still in the corner, busied with something) Necessity is the mother of invention!—I’m just inventing a little necessity.
Jeanne. What?
Paul. That!
Jeanne. Eh? (Nervously)
Paul. (Coming in) A great success!
Jeanne. What do you mean?
Paul. That! A little burglar alarm I’ve just installed. Yes, a piece of wood in the door-hinge. By this means, if anyone should come—oh, not any one in love,—that would be hardly likely in this place!—but someone who was trying to take refuge here and avoid the tragedy—there wouldn’t be any danger. He gives the door a push, there is a squeak and we—whht!—by the other door, eh? Isn’t that a clever invention? I tell you, we statesmen—! And now, Madame, since we are at last sheltered from the eyes of the world, I shed the responsibilities of the public man; the private citizen reappears, and is ready for the flight of sentiment too long concealed; I now permit you to call me Paul!
Jeanne. Oh, what bliss! You are too good, P A U L!
Paul. I am good because I am at peace; but, kissing me in the corridors, you know—the way you did when you came to unpack my trunk, that——
Duchess. (Aside) So it was they!
Paul. And in the garden, this evening, too——
Duchess. Again!
Paul. Never again, please! It’s entirely too imprudent for this house!—And what a place! Didn’t I tell you? It’s a shame that in order to become a Prefect one has to yawn himself to death in this palace of boredom!
Mme. de Céran. Eh?
Duchess. (To Madame de Céran) Listen to that! Listen to that!
Jeanne. (Drawing Paul down beside her) Come, dear!
Paul. (Sits down, then gets up and walks about, agitated) What a house! And the hosts, and the guests, and everybody else! And Madame Arriégo! And that poet! And the Marquise! And that English iceberg! And Roger the wooden man! The Duchess is the only one with any common-sense!
Duchess. That for me!
Paul. (With conviction) But the rest, oh, my, oh, my!
Duchess. And that for you!
Jeanne. Oh, come, dear, sit by me!
Paul. (Seating himself, and rising again as before) And the lectures and the Literature! And Revel’s candidacy! Clever old fox who keeps dying every evening and coming back to life every morning! (He starts to sit down, then he pauses) And Saint-Réault! Ah! Saint-Réault! And the Ramas-Ravanas and all the clap-trap about Buddha!
Mme. de Céran. (Indignantly) Oh!
Duchess. (Laughing to herself) Oh, he’s so funny!
Paul. And the other one, he’s a wonder! Bellac of the many conquests, with his Platonic love!!
Jeanne. (Dropping her eyes) He’s silly!
Paul. (Sitting) Don’t you think so? And that tragedy! Oh, that tragedy!
Jeanne. But, Paul, what is it?
Paul. And old Phillippe-Auguste with his beautiful verse! Why, everybody has written verse! That’s no reason why he should read it! I’ve done it myself!
Jeanne. You, dear?
Paul. Yes, I! When I was a poor student I even used to sell it!
Jeanne. To a publisher?
Paul. No, to a dentist! “Fill-iad, Or the Art of Filling Teeth.”—Poem in three hundred lines!—Thirty Francs—Listen!
Jeanne. Oh, no!
Paul. “O Muse, be there an ill, to man the greatest curse,
Which Heaven in its wrath spreads o’er the universe,
And sorely, you’ll admit, O Muse, good taste offends,
It is that one which oftentimes upon the teeth descends!—
Jeanne. Oh, Paul!
Paul. “Ah, to tear out that tooth, my cup of joy were full!
Nay, friend, it can be cured, stop! do not let them pull!
Oh, never pull a tooth, e’en when it rots—you’ll rue it!
Let it be filled; but choose a clever man to do it!
Protect that little tooth, bi-cuspéd or incisor,
’Twill sweeten every meal—’twill make your smile seem nicer!”
Duchess. (Laughing) Isn’t he amusing!
Jeanne. What nonsense you talk! Who would ever believe it to see you in the drawing-room! (Imitating him) Ah, yes, Monsieur le sénateur, the tide of democracy—the treaties of 1815—Oh! Oh! OH!
Paul. And you, dear! You certainly have made an impression on the hostess!
Mme. de Céran. Hmmm?
Paul. My compliments!
Jeanne. But, dearie, I only did what you suggested!
Paul. (Imitating her) “I only did what you suggested!”—Ah, little Miss Saintliness with her little voice! Oh, you filled the Countess full—of Joubert and Latin and Tocqueville—your own manufacture, too!
Mme. de Céran. What, her own manufacture?
Duchess. She is lovely! I like her all the more!
Jeanne. Well, I don’t feel any remorse—A woman who puts us in separate rooms!
Mme. de Céran. (Rising) And suppose I tell her to leave!
Duchess. Be still!
Jeanne. And it’s just horrid of her! Yes, she does it on purpose! A woman knows very well that new-married people always—have things to say to each other.
Paul. (Tenderly) Yes, always!
Jeanne. Always? Really?—Always like this?
Paul. What a sweet voice you have! I heard it a little while ago—talking about the treaties of 1815! Soft, sweet, all-enveloping. Ah, the voice is the music of the heart—as Monsieur de Tocqueville says!
Jeanne. Oh, Paul! I don’t like you to laugh at such serious things!
Paul. Oh, let me be a little nonsensical, please, dear! I’m so happy here! By Jove, just now I don’t care a rap whether I’m Prefect of Carcassonne or not!
Jeanne. It’s always “just now” with me, Monsieur! That’s the difference!
Paul. Dear little wife! (He kisses her hands)
Mme. de Céran. But such impropriety, I nev—
Duchess. I can’t say that I object to that!
Paul. I have a lot of back accounts to settle before I even begin to collect for the present! When can we get away? Dear little girl, you don’t know how I adore you!
Jeanne. Yes, I know—I can judge for myself!
Paul. My Jeanne!
Jeanne. Oh, Paul, say it like that always! Always!
Paul. Always! (Close to her, and very tenderly)
Mme. de Céran. But, Duchess!!
Duchess. Oh! They’re married, aren’t they!
(The door squeaks; Paul and Jeanne spring up, startled.)
Jeanne and Paul. Eh?
Jeanne. Somebody’s coming!
Paul. We must flee—as they say in the tragedy!
Jeanne. Quick! Quick!
Paul. You see? My little invention!
Jeanne. So soon! What luck! (They go out, right)
Mme. de Céran. (Going left) Well, it is a fortunate thing that they were interrupted.
Duchess. (Following her) I’m sorry they went—but the funny part is over now!
(Bellac enters right, at the back; Madame de Céran and the Duchess hide themselves, left.)
Bellac. What a noise that door makes!
Mme. de Céran. (To the Duchess, as before) Bellac!
Duchess. Bellac!
Bellac. One can’t see very well here!
Mme. de Céran. You see, it’s true!—Everything is true!
Duchess. Everything? No!—Only a little bit.
Mme. de Céran. The rest is far away.
Duchess. In any case, it’s only a lark, a schoolgirl’s frolic! It can’t be that—(The door squeaks) There she is! Oh, my, how my heart beats! In cases like this, it’s better to be sure; one can never tell. Can you see her?
Mme. de Céran. (Peering out) Yes, it’s she; Roger will be here in a moment, on the lookout for them. Hadn’t we better show ourselves, Duchess?
Duchess. No, no. I want to see where they stand. I want to catch them red-handed.
Mme. de Céran. (Still looking) I’m dying of suspense—Décolletée—It’s certainly she.
Duchess. Oh, the little coquette! Let me see! (She looks through the leaves) What’s that?
Mme. de Céran. What?
Duchess. Look!
Mme. de Céran. Lucy!
Duchess. Lucy!
Mme. de Céran. What does that mean?
Duchess. I don’t know, but I like that better!
(Paul and Jeanne re-enter, and Bellac and Lucy conceal themselves, right. Jeanne is behind Paul, holding him back.)
Jeanne. (To Paul) No, no, Paul, no!
Paul. Yes, yes! Let me go a second! I want to see! Nobody could be here but lovers, at this hour;—and yet, in this house! No, that would be too much!
Jeanne. Take care!
Paul. Shhh!
Lucy. Are you there, Monsieur Bellac?
Paul. The English girl!
Bellac. Yes, Mademoiselle!
Paul. And the Professor—the English girl and the Professor! It’s impossible! Scandal! Would you believe it! An intrigue—a rendezvous! We’ll stay right here and see what happens!
Jeanne. What?
Paul. After this, you don’t mean to say you want to go?
Jeanne. Oh, no! (They hide themselves behind the plants, at the back, left)
Lucy. Are you on this side?
Bellac. Here!—I beg your pardon! The conservatory is usually better lighted—I don’t know why, this evening—(He walks toward her)
Mme. de Céran. (Aside to the Duchess) Lucy!—But what about Suzanne? I’m sure I can’t make it out!
Duchess. Wait a while; we’ll soon see.
Lucy. But, M. Bellac, what do you mean by this? And your letter this morning? Why did you write me?
Bellac. Because I wanted to talk with you, my dear Miss Lucy. Is this the first time we have left the others and talked, and exchanged ideas?
Paul. (Struggling to control his laughter) Oh, exchange ideas! I never heard it called that before!
Bellac. Surrounded as I am here, what other means had I of speaking with you, alone?
Lucy. What other means? You might simply offer me your arm and leave the room with me. I’m no French girl!
Bellac. But you are in France.
Lucy. I may be in France, but I still do as I please. I have no use for secrets, much less such mysteries as this! You disguise your handwriting, you did not sign your name, you even wrote on pink paper—how French you are!
Paul. (Aside to Jeanne) He’s a born villain!
Bellac. How wonderful you are, austere Muse of Knowledge, superb Polymnia, proud nymph of the cold Pierian Spring—please sit down!
Lucy. No, no! Now see what all your precautions have come to; I have lost that letter!
Duchess. (Rather loudly) I see!
(Lucy starts.)
Bellac. What is it?
Lucy. Didn’t you hear——?
Bellac. No.—You say you lost——?
Lucy. What do you suppose the finder of that letter will think?
Duchess. (Aside to Mme. de Céran) Now do you understand?
Lucy. Of course; there was no envelope or address——
Bellac. Nor my handwriting, nor my signature. You see I wasn’t so stupid after all! In any case, my intentions were good, my dear Miss Lucy. Forgive your Professor, your friend, and—and—Sit down, please!
Lucy. No! Tell me what you have to tell me with so much secrecy, and we’ll return to the drawing-room!
Bellac. (Detaining her) Wait! Why didn’t you come to my lecture this afternoon?
Lucy. Simply because I spent my time looking for that letter. What have you to say to me now?
Bellac. Are you very anxious to leave me? (He gives her a packet of papers tied with a red ribbon) There!
Lucy. The proofs!
Bellac. (Agitated) Of my book!
Lucy. (Also moved) Of your—? Oh, M. Bellac!
Bellac. It was my wish to have you see it before anyone else! You only!
Lucy. (Taking his hand—effusively) Oh, my dear friend! My dear friend!
Paul. (As before) Oh, my, what a gift of love!
(Bellac moves a little to the left.)
Lucy. What is it?
Bellac. Nothing—nothing.—I thought—Read this book in which I have put my inmost thoughts, and you will find that we are in perfect accord, I am sure—except upon one point—Oh, that question——!
Lucy. Which?
Bellac. (Tenderly) Is it possible that you really do not believe in Platonic love?
Lucy. I? Not in the least!
Bellac. (Graciously) Very well, but what of our relations?
Lucy. (Simply) Our relations? Friendship!
Bellac. (Playing with the idea) I beg your pardon! More than friendship, better than love!
Lucy. Well, if it’s more than the one and better than the other, then it’s neither! And now, thank you once more; thank you a thousand times! But let us go back, shan’t we? (She starts to go)
Bellac. (Detaining her) Wait a moment!
Lucy. No, no, let us go back!
Paul. (To Jeanne) She won’t take the bait!
Bellac. (Always holding her back) Please wait, I beg you!—Two words! Two words! Explain to me, tell me—it’s worth the trouble! Come, Lucy!
Lucy. Come, Bellac! (Becoming animated, as she passes to the right) But see, my friend, listen, M. Bellac—your Platonic love has absolutely no philosophical basis——
Bellac. Pardon me, that love is a kind of friendship——
Lucy. If it’s friendship it is no longer love.
Bellac. But it’s a double concept!
Lucy. If it’s double, it cannot be a unit!
Bellac. But there is a fusion! (He seats himself)
Lucy. If it is a fusion, it has no longer an individuality. I’ll explain my meaning! (She seats herself)
Paul. (To Jeanne) She’s swallowed the hook!
Lucy. I deny that any fusion is possible between love, which is based upon indivisibility, and friendship, which is largely composed of sympathy; that is to say, that in which the Ego becomes, in a way, the Non-Ego. I deny absolutely, absolutely——!
Duchess. (To Mme. de Céran) I have often heard people talk about love, but never that way!
Bellac. But, Lucy——
Lucy. But, Bellac—Yes or no, the principal factor——
Bellac. But, Lucy—Here’s an example: suppose two beings, two abstractions, two entities—any man, any woman,—who love each other, but with an ordinary physiological love—you follow me?
Lucy. Perfectly!
Bellac. Let us suppose these two in the following circumstances; they are alone at night, together—what would happen?
Duchess. (To Madame de Céran) I don’t know, do you?
Bellac. Without fail—now pay close attention—without fail, this phenomenon will take place.
Jeanne. (To Paul) It’s so funny!
Paul. Do you think so, Madame?
Bellac. Both of them, or more probably, one of them, the man——
Paul. (To Jeanne) The male entity!
Bellac. Would approach her whom he believes he loves—(He approaches her)
Lucy. (Drawing back a little) But——
Bellac. (Gently holding her) No, no, you’ll see! They gaze fixedly into each other’s eyes, she feels his breath on her cheek, her hair brushes against his face——
Lucy. But, M. Bellac——
Bellac. And then—and then, their Egoes mingle, independently of the Ego itself, an uninterrupted series of involuntary acts which, by a natural succession, progressing slowly and inevitably, hurls them, if I may be permitted the expression, into the maelstrom which, though foreseen, cannot be avoided—in which Reason and Soul are powerless!
Lucy. One moment! This process——
Bellac. Listen, listen! Suppose now another couple and another love: a psychological, not a physiological love—an exception; you still follow me?
Lucy. Yes.
Bellac. These two, seated side by side, come nearer to each other——
Lucy. (Drawing away) But that’s the very same thing.
Bellac. (Bringing her back) Listen to me; there is the slightest shade of difference. Let me illustrate: they too gaze into each other’s eyes and they too——
Lucy. Well? (She rises)
Bellac. (Making her sit down) But—but—They are oblivious of physical beauty: it is their souls which commune. They no longer hear each other’s voices, but rather the palpitation of their thoughts! And then, finally, by an entirely different process—though springing from the same source—they too arrive at that obscure and turbulent state of mind in which the being is ignorant even of its own existence—a delicious atrophy of the Will which seems the summum and the terminus of human happiness; they leave the earth to awaken in a free Heaven, for their love transports them far above the murky clouds of earthly passion into the pure Ether of the sublimely Ideal! (A pause)
Paul. (To Jeanne) They’re going to kiss!
Bellac. Lucy!! Dear Lucy, don’t you understand? Say that you understand me!
Lucy. (Troubled) But—it seems to me that these two concepts——
Paul. Oh, the concepts! That’s too much!
Lucy. The two concepts are identical.
Bellac. (Passionately) Identical?! Oh, Lucy, you are cruel! Identical! You must understand that in this case it is entirely subjective.
Paul. Subjective! Oh, I say!
Bellac. (Growing more excited) Subjective! Lucy! You must understand me!
Lucy. (Greatly moved) But, Bellac—subjective!
Jeanne. (To Paul) He’ll never kiss her!
Paul. Then I’ll kiss you!
Jeanne. (Defending herself) Paul! Paul!
(Kisses are heard.)
Bellac and Lucy. (Getting up, frightened) What——?
Duchess. (Astonished; rising) What’s this? Are they kissing?
Lucy. Someone—someone’s there!
Bellac. Come, take my hand!
Lucy. There’s someone listening! I’m sure!
Bellac. Come!
Lucy. I’m fearfully compromised! (She goes out at the back, left)
Bellac. (Following her) I’ll do all in my power—(He follows her out)
Paul. (Who, with Jeanne, comes out from the hiding-place) Platonic love! Ha! Ha!
Duchess. (Aside) Raymond!
Jeanne. The Ego! The process! The terminus! Ha! Ha!
Duchess. (Leaving her hiding-place; aside) Naughty children! Just wait! (Quietly approaching them)
Paul. Oh, he’s a regular Tartufe,[4] with his double-meanings! (Imitating Bellac) “My dear Mademoiselle; Love is a double concept”——
Jeanne. (Imitating Lucy) “But the principal factor”——
Paul. “But, Lucy”——
Jeanne. “But, Bellac”——
Paul. “But there is the slightest shade of a difference—Let me illustrate”——
Jeanne. “But they are identical.”
Paul. “Identical! You are cruel! It is entirely subjective.”
Jeanne. “Oh, Bellac, subjective.”
(The Duchess imitates the sound of kisses by clapping her hands.)
Paul and Jeanne. (Rising in alarm) What——?
Jeanne. Someone!
Paul. Caught!
Jeanne. Someone has been listening!
Paul. (Trying to take her away) Come, come!
Jeanne. (As they go out) Perhaps they heard what we said before!
Paul. “I’ll do all in my power”—! (They go out left)
Duchess. (Laughing) Ha! Ha! Those ridiculous children! They’re nice, but they deserve a lesson! I have to laugh! Oh—Lucy—think of it!—She’s all right! Ah, well, now do you see how matters stand! Suzanne—the rendezvous—the letter——
Mme. de Céran. Oh, it was Bellac’s letter to Lucy that Suzanne found!
Duchess. She thought it was Roger’s letter to Lucy; that is why she was so jealous, so furious!
Mme. de Céran. Jealous? You don’t mean to tell me she loves my son?
Duchess. Do you still want him to marry the other girl?
Mme. de Céran. The other girl? Certainly not! But never Suzanne, Aunt, never!
Duchess. We haven’t come to that yet! Meanwhile, go and take care of your tragic poet, and Revel’s successor! I’ll find your son for you, and see that he gets back his honor! All’s well that ends well! I’m not nervous now, after all this ado about nothing! But now it’s over; let’s go!
(They are about to go out, left, when the door at the right opens.)
Duchess and Mme. de Céran. What’s this?
Duchess. Again!? Your Conservatory is thick with them! This is lovely!
Mme. de Céran. Who else can it be?
Duchess. Who? (Struck with an idea) Oh! (To Mme. de Céran, placing her in a corner, left) Go back to the drawing-room; I’ll tell you later.
Mme. de Céran. But, I——
Duchess. You can’t leave your guests all evening!
Mme. de Céran. (Trying to see the newcomers) Who can it be?
Duchess. (Still urging her out) I’ll tell you everything. Quick now, before—— You can’t——
Mme. de Céran. That’s so. I’ll come back for the tea.
Duchess. Yes, do that! Quick, quick, now!
(Mme. de Céran goes out, left.)
Duchess. Who can it be? Roger, who is spying on Suzanne, or Suzanne, who is spying on Roger? (Looking to the right) Yes, it’s he, my Bartolo—(Looking to the left) And my little jealous girl, who thinks Roger is with Lucy, and who would like to see how things are coming on. That’s it. Headache number three: total quite correct! Oh, if Fortune doesn’t make something out of this, she is insufferably stupid! (Carefully turning down the gas) We need a little added effect!
(Enter Suzanne.)
Suzanne. (Hiding) I knew very well when he had finished walking around the garden he would end here in the conservatory; he couldn’t miss it!
(Roger enters.)
Roger. (As he hides) She’s here, I saw her come in! I knew very well when she had finished walking around the garden she would end here in the conservatory!—Now I know what to expect!
Duchess. Hide-and-seek!
Suzanne. (Listening) It seems that—his English lady is late!
Roger. (Listening) Ahh! Bellac isn’t here yet!
Duchess. They’ll keep this up forever unless I stop it!—Sst!
Roger. She’s giving him a signal! Oh, if I only dared, I’d take his place, since he hasn’t come. That’s the way to find out how they feel toward one another!
Duchess. (Aside) Come, come!—Sst!
Roger. Well, I might as well learn what I can!—Ssst!
Duchess. Well!
Suzanne. He thinks I’m Lucy!—Oh, I should like to know what he’d say to her!
Roger. (In an undertone) Is it you?
Suzanne. (Softly) Yes! (Aside; resolutely) I’ll do it!
Roger. She thinks I’m Bellac!
Duchess. Ahh!—Good! They’re off! (She disappears behind the plants at the back, left)
Roger. Did you get my letter?
Suzanne. (Aside—angrily) Yes, I got your letter! I got it! And you had no idea that I did, either! (To Roger; sweetly) How else should I have come to meet you?
Roger. (Aside) “Meet you”—! This is plain enough!—Oh, the poor child—Now we’ll see!—(To Suzanne) I was so afraid you wouldn’t come, my dear——
Suzanne. (Aside) “My dear!” Oh! (To Roger) And yet you saw me leave the drawing-room a moment ago, my dear!
Roger. (Aside) They’re on very familiar terms, aren’t they? There’s no denying that! I’ve got to know! (To Suzanne) Why don’t you come nearer? (He approaches her)
Suzanne. (Aside) Oh, he’ll notice that I’m smaller than Lucy. (She sits down) This way!
Roger. Would you like me to sit beside you?
Suzanne. Very much!
Roger. (Aside) Oh-ho! “Very much!” Strange she does take me for Bellac! My voice is nothing like his—well, let’s see how this will come out. (He sits beside her and, turning his back) How good of you to come!—You love me just a little bit dear?
Suzanne. (Turning her back to him) Oh, yes!
Roger. (Aside; as he rises) She loves him! Oh, the villain, the rascal!
Suzanne. (Aside) What’s the matter with him?
Roger. (Sitting beside her again) Let me be near you, as I used to be! (He takes her hand)
Suzanne. (Aside, indignantly) He’s taking her hand!
Roger. (Aside, indignantly) She lets him take her hand! It’s horrible!
Suzanne. Oh!
Roger. You’re trembling!
Suzanne. Why—— You’re trembling——
Roger. No, it’s you!—Can it be—? (Aside) We’ll see! (To Suzanne) Are you afraid?
Suzanne. (Aside, indignantly, as she rises) “You!”[5]
Roger. (Aside, breathing heavily) Well, they haven’t got that far anyway?
(Suzanne comes back, resolutely, and re-seats herself near him in silence.)
Roger. (Aside, agitated) What? More? Well!—(Aside) Then you’re not afraid?
Suzanne. Afraid? With you?
Roger. (Aside) With—! So the cad has gone as far as that! I’ll get to the bottom of this! It’s my duty! Her moral welfare is in my hands. (To Suzanne) Well! In that case, why do you avoid me? (He draws her to him)
Suzanne. (Outraged) Oh!
Roger. Why do you turn from me? (He puts his arm around her)
Suzanne. Oh!!
Roger. Why do you deny me your lips? (He leans over her)
Suzanne. (Springing to her feet) This is too much!
Roger. This is too much!
Suzanne. Look at me, Suzanne!—Not Lucy, but Suzanne! Do you hear?
Roger. And this is Roger! Not Bellac, but Roger, do you hear?
Suzanne. Bellac?
Roger. My poor child! Then it was true? Oh, Suzanne, Suzanne! How you have hurt me!—Well, he’s coming—I’ll wait for him!
Suzanne. Who?
Roger. Don’t you understand, I read the letter!
Suzanne. The letter?—I read your letter!
Roger. My letter? Bellac’s letter?
Suzanne. Bellac’s?—It was from you!
Roger. From me?
Suzanne. From you! To Lucy!
Roger. To Lucy? No! To you! To you! To you!
Suzanne. To Lucy! Lucy! Lucy, who lost it!
Roger. (Astonished) Lost it!
Suzanne. I was there when she was asking the servant about it! You don’t mean to say—? And I found it.
Roger. (Understanding) You found it?
Suzanne. Yes, and I knew everything!—Headache, and rendezvous and all that. And I wanted to see; so I came and you took me for her——
Roger. I?
Suzanne. (Keeping back her tears) Yes, you! you!—You took me for her, you told her you loved her!—Yes, you did!—Then why did you tell me you didn’t love her? You told me just now—and that you weren’t going to marry her.—Why did you tell me that? You shouldn’t have done that! Marry her if you want;—but you shouldn’t have told me. That wasn’t right—if you loved her—you shouldn’t have—— (Throwing herself in his arms) You shouldn’t have! Oh, don’t marry her! Don’t marry her!
Roger. Oh, my dear Suzanne! How happy I am!
Suzanne. What?
Roger. Then that letter you found wasn’t sent to you?
Suzanne. To me?
Roger. I didn’t send it—I swear!
Suzanne. But I——
Roger. I swear! It was sent to Lucy by Bellac! Now I understand: you thought—just as I did—— Oh, I see everything now!—Oh, my dear Suzanne, what an awful fright you gave me! It was fearful!
Suzanne. But what about?
Roger. What about? Oh—it’s absurd—don’t ask—it was base of me. Forgive me, I beg you, forgive me!
Suzanne. Then you’re not going to marry her?
Roger. But I’m telling you——!
Suzanne. Then I don’t understand at all. Only tell me you won’t marry her, and I’ll believe you.
Roger. Of course I won’t. What a child you are! Don’t cry, wipe your eyes, my dear Suzanne, there’s nothing to cry about!
Suzanne. I can’t help it!
Roger. Why?
Suzanne. I have only you in the world! I don’t want you to leave me!
Roger. Leave you?
Suzanne. (Sobbing) You know how jealous I am. You—you can’t understand that! I saw this evening, when I tried to make you jealous by talking with M. Bellac, that you didn’t seem to care at all. You didn’t care anything about me!
Roger. I wanted to kill him!
Suzanne. To kill him? (Puts her arms around his neck) How nice you are! Then you thought—?
Roger. Let’s not say any more about that, it’s all over, forgotten, the past is dead. Let’s begin all over again: from my arrival—How are you, Suzanne? How are you, dear? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Come to me, dear, the way you used to! (He seats himself with her beside him)
Suzanne. Oh, Roger, how nice you are! What lovely things you say! You love me better than you love her, then?
Roger. (With feeling) Love you! But isn’t it my duty to love you? As a relative, as a tutor, as an honest man? Love you! When I read that letter I don’t know what happened to me—then I understood how deep my feelings were—yes, I love you, my dear child, my divine creature! More than I ever imagined I did! And I want you to know—(Tenderly)—don’t you feel that I love you deeply, dear little Suzanne?
Suzanne. (A little surprised at his vehemence) Yes—Roger——
Roger. The way you look at me—I frightened you—you don’t believe me—I’m not used to—I’m not used to saying tender things, I’m awkward—I don’t know how to say those things—one’s emotions are influenced by maternal training and you know my mother; she has made a dryasdust scientist of me. Science has been my sole preoccupation—You have been my sole distraction—the one ray of sunshine in my dreary youth. You have only me and I have only you—and I, my dear child, whom else have I to love but you?—And I didn’t know! You have charmed me as one is charmed by a child!—With your simplicity, with your grace! I was your teacher, but your pupil as well. While I was nursing your mind to blossom forth into thought, you were planting seeds of tenderness in my heart. I taught you to read, you taught me to—love! It was your tiny pink fingers, the silk of your golden hair that woke my heart to its first kisses! You crept into my heart then, and you have grown now until your soul has filled mine! (Pause) Now do you believe me?
Suzanne. (Moved, she rises and speaks in a low voice) Let’s go!
Roger. Why?—Where?
Suzanne. (Troubled) Away from here.
Roger. But why?
Suzanne. It’s so dark!
Roger. But, just a moment ago——
Suzanne. A moment ago I didn’t see what you meant——
Roger. No, stay, stay! There’s no better place than this. I have so much to tell you. My heart is so full! I don’t know why I tell you all this—It’s true—It’s so good to say these things—Ah, Suzanne—stay! Dear Suzanne—(He holds her)
Suzanne. No, I beg you!
Roger. You?[6]
Suzanne. (More and more troubled) I—beg you——
Roger. But only a moment ago——
Suzanne. Yes, but now——
Roger. Why?
Suzanne. I don’t know, I——
Roger. You’re crying! Have I hurt you?
Suzanne. No! No!
Roger. Have I offended you, without knowing it?
Suzanne. No, no,—I don’t know. I don’t understand. Please, let’s go away from here!
Roger. Suzanne!—I don’t understand!—I can’t see!
(The Duchess appears.)
Duchess. And do you know why? It is because neither of you can see what’s as clear as day! (She turns up the gas) There!
Roger. Aunt!
Duchess. My dear children, how happy you make me! Go on, kiss your bride!
Roger. (Not understanding at first) My bride—Suzanne! (He looks at his aunt, then at Suzanne) Ohh! It’s true,—I love her!
Duchess. (Joyously) Nonsense! Even when it’s as clear as day? (To Suzanne) And how about you?
Suzanne. (With downcast eyes) Oh, Aunt!
Duchess. It seemed—that you could see all the time! Women’s eyes are a little better than men’s, eh? That idea of mine to turn down the gas was splendid. So everything’s going nicely now? Well, there is only your mother to see!
Roger. What?
Duchess. Oh, it will be a little difficult!—Here she is! Here they all come—The whole tragedy! Shh! Not a word! Leave everything in my hands, I’ll take care of it. What’s all this?
(Enter Madame de Céran, des Millets, surrounded by ladies, the General, Bellac, Lucy, Madame de Loudan, Madame Arriégo, Paul and Jeanne; and the others.)
Mme. de Céran. Great news, Aunt!
Duchess. What?
Mme. de Céran. Revel is dead!
Duchess. You’re fooling!
Mme. de Céran. It’s in the evening papers. Look! (She hands her a paper)
Duchess. Well—(Takes the paper and reads it)
Mme. Arriégo. (To the Poet) Beautiful, superb!
Mme. de Loudan. Beautiful! Inspired!
General. Remarkable! One excellent line!
Des Millets. Oh, General!
General. Yes, indeed! An excellent line! “The”—how does it go? “Honor is like a god which hath one altar only!”
Paul. (To Jeanne) A trifle too many feet!
Bellac. (To Lucy, after looking at paper) He died at six o’clock!
Saint-Réault. (To his wife, showing her paper) Yes, at six o’clock. Oh, I have M. Toulonnier’s promise!
Bellac. (To Lucy) Toulonnier gave me a formal promise——
Mme. de Céran. (To the Duchess) Toulonnier is on our side.
Duchess. Well, where is your Toulonnier?
Saint-Réault. He just received a telegram.
Mme. de Céran. (Aside) That confirms the appointment. Good!—But why—? (Enter Toulonnier) Ah—At last!
All. It’s he! Ah! Ah!
(Toulonnier comes down-stage, surrounded by the company.)
Mme. de Céran. My dear Secretary General!
Saint-Réault. My dear Toulonnier!
Mme. de Céran. Well, the telegram——?
Bellac. It’s about poor Revel, is it not?
Toulonnier. (Embarrassed) Yes, about Revel.
Bellac. Well, what about him?
Duchess. (Looking at Toulonnier) It says he isn’t dead!
Mme. de Céran, Bellac, and Saint-Réault. (Showing the papers) But the papers!
Duchess. They’re mistaken!
All. Oh!
Duchess. For once! (To Toulonnier) Aren’t they?
Toulonnier. Well, he’s not exactly dead!
Saint-Réault. (Sinking into a chair) Yet?
Duchess. And I’ll warrant he’s received another appointment!
Toulonnier. Commander of the Legion of Honor.
Saint-Réault. Again!
Toulonnier. (Showing his telegram) It will appear in to-morrow’s Official! (To Saint-Réault, sympathetically) Believe me, I feel deeply——!
Duchess. (Aside, looking at Toulonnier) He knew it before he came this evening! He’s a good one—I too have some important news to announce!
All. (Turning toward the Duchess) Ahh!
Duchess. Two things!
Lucy. What?
Mme. de Loudan. What, Duchess?
Bellac. What?
Duchess. First, the engagement of our friend, Miss Lucy Watson, to Professor Bellac!
All. Bellac? What!!
Bellac. (Aside) Duchess!
Duchess. Ah! You must make some reparation.
Bellac. Rep—— Oh! With pleasure! Ah, Lucy!
Lucy. (Astonished) Why, Madame!
Duchess. (Aside) Reparation, my child!
Lucy. None is necessary, because there is nothing to repair! However, my ideas and my inclinations are in perfect harmony. (She gives her hand to Bellac)
Bellac. Ah, Lucy!
Duchess. Good! Number one!
Mme. de Loudan. You are the happiest of women, Lucy!
Duchess. Second piece of news!
Mme. de Loudan. Another engagement?
Duchess. Yes.
Mme. de Loudan. It’s a regular festival!
Duchess. The engagement of my dear nephew, Roger de Céran——
Mme. de Céran. Duchess!
Duchess. To a girl who is very dear to my heart——
Mme. de Céran. Oh, Aunt!
Duchess. My sole heir——
Mme. de Céran. Your——?
Duchess. My fortune and my family name will be hers! My adopted daughter, Mademoiselle Suzanne de Villiers de Réville.
Suzanne. (Throwing herself into the Duchess’s arms) Oh, my mother!
Mme. de Céran. But, Duchess!
Duchess. Find a richer and a nobler name!
Mme. de Céran. Oh, I’m not saying—and yet—(To Roger) Consider, Roger——
Roger. I love her, mother.
Duchess. (Looking about her) Number two! There remains—(To Paul) Come here, will you? What reparation are you going to make?
Paul. (Ashamed) Ah, Duchess, it was you, then?
Jeanne. (Confused) Ah, Madame, then you heard——?
Duchess. Yes, little trickster, I did.
Paul. Oh!
Duchess. But, since you didn’t say too much evil of me, I’ll forgive you. You’ll be Prefect——
Paul. Oh, Duchess! (He kisses her hand)
Jeanne. Ah, Madame—! “Gratitude,” as Saint-Evremont says——
Paul. What’s the use—now?
Curtain.
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