ACT II
George’s study. To the left a window. In front of the window a desk of moderate size, facing away from the audience, and a writing chair. On the desk a telephone. To the right of the desk an arm chair, a small table with a work box and embroidery, and between the window and the footlights a deep easy chair. At the back a dainty bookcase, and in front of it a pretty table with flowers. At the back to the right a door, and, nearer, a piano and a music stool. To the left another door. Two small chairs.
Henriette is sitting by the small table and working at a baby’s cap. After a moment she holds it up on her hand.
HENRIETTE. Another little cap to send to nurse. How sweet my little Germaine will look in it! Come, sweetheart, laugh at mother! Oh, my love! [She kisses the cap and goes on working].
George enters at the back.
GEORGE [opening the door and taking off his coat in the hall] Hullo! Are you there? Are you there? Ha, ha, ha!
HENRIETTE [rising gaily] Oh, you know I recognized your voice.
GEORGE. What a story! [Kissing her] Poor little darling, was she taken in, poor little woman! Ha, ha, ha!
HENRIETTE [laughing too] Don’t laugh like that!
GEORGE. ‘Hullo! Hullo! Madame George Dupont?’ [Imitating a woman’s timid voice] ‘Yes, yes. I am here.’ I could feel you blushing at the end of the wire.
HENRIETTE [laughing] I didn’t say ‘I am here’ in that voice. I simply answered ‘Yes.’
GEORGE. ‘Hullo, Madame George Dupont. Is George there?’ [Laughing] You were taken in! You can’t say you weren’t. [In the woman’s voice] ‘George is out. Who is it speaking to me?’ I could hardly keep it up. ‘Me, Gustave.’ You thought it was, too.
HENRIETTE. What is there astonishing in your friend Gustave telephoning?
GEORGE. And when I added [imitating Gustave’s voice] ‘How are you this morning, dearest?’ you gave a ’What?’ all flustered, like that: ‘What?’
HENRIETTE. Yes, but then I guessed it was you.
GEORGE. I went into fits. What a lark! [He sits down in front of her on the arm of the chair close to the fireplace and watches her happily].
HENRIETTE [sitting down and returning his glance] What a funny little fellow you are!
GEORGE. Me?
HENRIETTE [gaily] Do you think I don’t understand you, after knowing you for fifteen years and being married to you a twelvemonth?
GEORGE [curious] Ah! well, go on. Say what you think of me.
HENRIETTE. To begin with, you’re anxious. Then you’re jealous. And suspicious. You spend all your time in making a tangle of things and then inventing ingenious ways of getting out of it.
GEORGE [happy to hear himself talked about] So that’s what you think of me? Go on, let us have some more.
HENRIETTE. Isn’t it true?
GEORGE [admitting it with a laugh] Well?
HENRIETTE. Wasn’t it a trap that you set for me this morning?
GEORGE [in the same tone] No.
HENRIETTE. Yes; you wanted to be sure that I had not gone out. You asked me not to go to the Louvre to-day.
GEORGE [innocently] So I did.
HENRIETTE. See how suspicious you are, even of me.
GEORGE. No; not of you.
HENRIETTE. Yes, you are. But you have always been, so I don’t mind. And then I know at the bottom you feel things so keenly that it makes you rather afraid.
GEORGE [seriously] I was laughed at so much when I was a boy.
HENRIETTE [gaily] Besides, perhaps you have reasons for not having too much confidence in men’s friendships with their friends’ wives. Gay deceiver!
GEORGE [laughing] I should like to know what you mean by that.
HENRIETTE. Suppose I had thought it was Gustave and answered: ‘Very well, thanks. How are you, darling?’
GEORGE [laughing] Well, it is a trick that I shouldn’t like to try on everyone. [Changing the conversation] By the way, as I came in Justin spoke to me.
HENRIETTE. Well?
GEORGE. He says he wants a rise.
HENRIETTE. He has chosen a likely moment.
GEORGE. Hasn’t he? I asked him if the sale of my cigars was not enough for him.
HENRIETTE. How did he take that?
GEORGE. He lost his temper and gave warning. This time I took him at his word. He’s simply furious.
HENRIETTE. Good.
GEORGE. He’ll go at the end of the month and we shall be well rid of him. Mother will be delighted. I say, she hasn’t wired, has she?
HENRIETTE. No.
GEORGE. Then she’s not coming back till to-morrow.
HENRIETTE. If she had her way, she would never leave our little girl.
GEORGE. You’re not going to be jealous, are you?
HENRIETTE. I’m a little anxious. Still, if there had been anything the matter, I know your mother would have telegraphed to us.
GEORGE. We agreed that she should, if there was anything since yesterday.
HENRIETTE. Perhaps after all we should have done better to keep baby with us.
GEORGE. Oh, are you going to begin again?
HENRIETTE. No, no. Don’t scold. I know the air of Paris didn’t suit her.
GEORGE. You still think that the dust of my papers was better for her than the air of the country.
HENRIETTE [laughing] No; I don’t.
GEORGE. Of course, there is the square, with the smell of fried fish and all the soldiers.
HENRIETTE. Don’t tease. I know you are right.
GEORGE. Aha! I’m glad you admit that for once in a way.
HENRIETTE. Besides, nurse takes good care of her. She is a good girl.
GEORGE. And how proud she is to nurse the grand-daughter of her deputy.
HENRIETTE. Father is not deputy for that district. All the same—
GEORGE. All the same he is deputy for the department.
HENRIETTE. Yes; he is.
GEORGE. Can’t you hear her talking to her friends? [Imitating the nurse’s voice] ‘Haven’t I had a bit of luck, neither? Yes, ma’am; she’s our deputy’s daughter’s daughter, she is. She’s as fat as a calf, the little duck; and that clever with it, she understands everything. That’s not a bit of luck neither, isn’t it?’
HENRIETTE [laughing] You great silly! She doesn’t talk like that at all.
GEORGE. Why not say at once that I can’t do imitations?
HENRIETTE. Now I didn’t say that.
GEORGE. As if mother would have engaged nurse for us if she had not been absolutely certain that baby would be well looked after. Besides, she goes down to see her every week, and she would have brought her back already—
HENRIETTE. Twice a week sometimes.
GEORGE. Yes.
HENRIETTE. Ah, our little Germaine knows what it is to have a granny who dotes on her.
GEORGE. Doesn’t she, though?
HENRIETTE. Your mother is so good. You know I adore her, too.
GEORGE. Runs in the family!
HENRIETTE. Do you know, the last time we went down there with her—you had gone out somewhere or other—
GEORGE. To see that old sixteenth century chest.
HENRIETTE [laughing] Of course, your wonderful chest.
GEORGE. Well, what were you going to say?
HENRIETTE. You were out, and nurse had gone to mass, I think.
GEORGE. Or to have a drink. Go on.
HENRIETTE. I was in the little room, and your mother thought she was alone with Germaine. But I could hear her: she was telling baby all sorts of sweet little things—silly little things, but so sweet that I felt laughing and crying at the same moment.
GEORGE. Didn’t she call her ‘my own little Saviour’?
HENRIETTE. Why, were you listening?
GEORGE. No; but that’s what she used to call me once on a time.
HENRIETTE. It was that day she said she was sure baby had recognized her and laughed at her.
GEORGE. One day, too, I went into mother’s room here. The door was ajar, so that she didn’t hear me come in; and I found her looking at one of the little christening slippers she wanted baby to have, you know.
HENRIETTE. Oh, yes.
GEORGE. And then she took it up and kissed it.
HENRIETTE. What did you say to her?
GEORGE. Nothing. I went out as softly as I could and blew a kiss to her from the other side of the door.
HENRIETTE. When nurse’s letter came the other day, it didn’t take her long to get ready and catch the 8.59.
GEORGE. However, there wasn’t anything the matter.
HENRIETTE. No; but still perhaps she was right. Perhaps I should have gone with her.
GEORGE. Poor innocent little Henriette! You believe everything you are told. Now I saw at once what was up. The nurse simply wanted to humbug us into raising her screw. I bet she did. Look here, will you bet me she didn’t? Come, what will you have? Look here. I bet you that lovely necklace—you know, the one with the big pearl.
HENRIETTE. No; I should be too much afraid of winning.
GEORGE [laughing] Silly! I believe you think I don’t care for baby as much as you do. Why, you don’t even know how old she is! No, no, exactly! Let’s see. Aha! Ninety-one days and eight hours, there! [He laughs]. Ah, when she can get on by herself, then we’ll have her back with us. Six months more to wait.
HENRIETTE. Six months is a long time to wait. When I think that if you had not put off our marriage for six months, we should have her back now!
GEORGE. I have told you over and over again that I only did what was right. Just consider; how could I marry when the doctor told me I had traces of consumption?
HENRIETTE. Your doctor is a donkey. As if you looked like a consumptive!
GEORGE. Generally speaking, doctors are a bit that way, I grant.
HENRIETTE. And you actually wanted to wait three or four years.
GEORGE. Yes; to be quite certain I had nothing wrong with my lungs.
HENRIETTE. You call me innocent, me! And here were you, just because a doctor—
GEORGE. But you know it seems that I really had the beginning of some bronchial trouble. I used to feel something when I breathed rather hard—like that, only a little harder. There, that’s it. There was a sort of heaviness each side of my chest.
HENRIETTE. It wasn’t anything to put off our marriage for.
GEORGE [getting up] Yes, yes; I assure you I was right. I should have been wrong to expose you to the chance of having a consumptive husband. No; I’m not at all sorry we waited. Still, those specialists—I can afford to laugh at them now. If I knew someone now who was ill, I should tell him: ‘My dear chap, those bigwigs at forty francs a consultation—well, just don’t you consult them, you know!’
HENRIETTE. That one wanted four years to cure you!
GEORGE. Hang it, doctors are only men. After all they must live; and when their consultations are forty francs apiece, why, the more the merrier.
HENRIETTE. And some quite unknown little doctor cured you in three months!
GEORGE. Yes; he was quite unknown. The odd thing is I have absolutely forgotten his address. I found it in the paper, I remember. I know vaguely that it was somewhere near the Halles; but if I was to have my head chopped off for it, I couldn’t find it again. Idiotic, isn’t it?
HENRIETTE. Consequently, Germaine is six months less old than she ought to be.
GEORGE. What of that? We shall keep her so much the longer. She will be married six months later, that’s all.
HENRIETTE. Oh, don’t speak of it. It’s odious to think even now that we shall lose her some day.
GEORGE. Ah! I can see myself going up the steps of the Madeleine with her on my arm.
HENRIETTE. Why the Madeleine?
GEORGE. I don’t know. She’ll have on a great white veil and I shall have an order in my buttonhole.
HENRIETTE. Indeed! Pray what will you have done to get an order?
GEORGE. I don’t know, but I shall have one. Say what you like, I shall. What a glorious crowd there’ll be!
HENRIETTE. That’s all in the dim, distant future.
GEORGE. Ah, yes.
HENRIETTE. Yes, happily. [Getting up] Well, do you mind if I go and pay my visits now?
GEORGE. Run along, run along. I shall work hard while you are out. Look at all these papers! I shall be up to my eyes in them before you’re downstairs. Good-bye.
HENRIETTE. Good-bye. [She kisses him and goes out at the back by the right].
George lights a cigarette, looks at himself in the glass, and throws himself into the easy chair to the left, humming a tune. By way of being more comfortable, he moves away the writing chair and puts his feet on the desk, smoking and humming in perfect contentment. Madame Dupont comes in by the door on the left.
GEORGE [getting up] Hullo! Why, mother! We had no wire, so we didn’t expect you till to-morrow. Henriette has just gone out. I can call her back.
MME. DUPONT. No; I did not want Henriette to be here when I came.
GEORGE. What’s the matter?
The conversation that follows is broken by long silences.
MME. DUPONT. I have brought back the child and the nurse.
GEORGE. Is baby ill?
MME. DUPONT. Yes.
GEORGE. What’s wrong with her?
MME. DUPONT. Nothing serious; at least for the moment.
GEORGE. We must send for the doctor.
MME. DUPONT. I have just come from the doctor’s.
GEORGE. Good. I’m not going out. I’ll wait for him.
MME. DUPONT. I have seen him.
GEORGE. Ah, you found him in?
MME. DUPONT. I telegraphed to him from the country, took the child to see him.
GEORGE. It was so urgent as that?
MME. DUPONT. After what the nurse’s doctor had told me, I wished to be reassured immediately.
GEORGE. And after all there is nothing serious.
MME. DUPONT. For the moment.
GEORGE. When you got down there, how did you find baby?
MME. DUPONT Fairly well, but I sent for the doctor at once.
GEORGE. What did he say?
MME. DUPONT. That you must make a change; that the child must be brought up on the bottle.
GEORGE. What an extraordinary idea.
MME. DUPONT. He told me that what she was suffering from might become very serious. So without saying anything to nurse, I made her come with me and we took the train back.
GEORGE. Well, what is the matter with the child?
MME. DUPONT [after a thoughtful pause] I do not know.
GEORGE. Didn’t you ask him?
MME. DUPONT. Yes.
GEORGE [beginning to be anxious] Well?
A silence.
MME. DUPONT. He replied evasively.
GEORGE [tonelessly] He probably did not know himself.
MME. DUPONT [after a silence] Probably.
During what follows they avoid looking at one another.
GEORGE. But our own doctor, didn’t he say—?
MME. DUPONT. It was not to him that I went.
GEORGE. Ah! [A very long silence. Then lower] Why?
MME. DUPONT. The nurse’s doctor had so terrified me.
GEORGE. Seriously?
MME. DUPONT. Yes: it is a disease—[Silence]
GEORGE [in anguish] Well?
MME. DUPONT. I asked him if the matter was too serious for our own doctor to deal with.
GEORGE. What did he answer?
MME. DUPONT. That if we had the means it would be preferable to see a specialist.
GEORGE [trying to pull himself together] And—where did he send you?
MME. DUPONT [handing him a visiting card] There.
GEORGE. He sent you to that doctor?
MME. DUPONT. Yes. Do you know him?
GEORGE. No—Yes—I think I have met him—I don’t know. [Very low] My God!
MME. DUPONT [after a silence] He is coming to speak to you.
GEORGE [scarcely daring to pronounce the words] Then is he anxious?
MME. DUPONT. No. He wants to speak to you.
GEORGE. He wants to speak to me?
MME. DUPONT. Yes.
GEORGE [resigning himself] Very well.
MME. DUPONT. When he saw the nurse, whom I had left in the waiting room, he called me back and said: ‘It is impossible for me to continue attending on this child unless I can see its father and speak to him at once.’ I answered ’Very well,’ and gave him your address. He will not be long.
GEORGE [to himself in a low voice] My poor little child!
MME. DUPONT [looking at him] Yes, she is a poor little child.
GEORGE [after a long silence] Mother—
MME. DUPONT [hearing the door opened] Hush! [A maid comes in and speaks to her. To George] It is he! [To the maid] Show him in. [To George] I shall be there if you want me.
She goes out by the left. The doctor enters by the right.
DOCTOR [to the maid] You will let me know here when the child wakes up, will you not?
MAID. Yes, sir.
She goes out.
GEORGE [with the greatest emotion] Good day, doctor: you don’t recognize me?
DOCTOR [simply: more discouraged than angry] You—it is you. You married and had a child after all I said to you. [Almost to himself] Scoundrel.
GEORGE. Let me explain.
DOCTOR. I can listen to no explanation of what you have done.
A silence.
GEORGE [imploring him] You will look after my little girl all the same, won’t you?
DOCTOR [shrugging his shoulders. Low] Fool!
GEORGE [not hearing] I could only get my marriage put off six months.
DOCTOR. Enough, enough. That is not my business. I was wrong even to show you my indignation. I should have left you to judge yourself. I am here only concerned with the present and the future, with the child and with the nurse.
GEORGE. She is not in danger?
DOCTOR. The nurse is in danger of being contaminated.
GEORGE. No, but—my child?
DOCTOR. For the moment the symptoms are not disquieting.
GEORGE. Thank you. [More easily] About the nurse—you were saying—Do you mind if I call my mother? She knows more about these things than I do.
DOCTOR. As you please.
GEORGE [going to the door and coming back much moved] There is one thing I should like to ask you. Could you contrive that no one—my wife—should know what has happened? If my poor wife knew that it was I who was the cause—it is for her sake that I beg you. She is not to blame.
DOCTOR. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to save her from learning the real nature of the child’s illness.
GEORGE. Oh, thank you, thank you.
DOCTOR. You need not. If I tell lies, it will be for her sake and not for yours.
GEORGE. And my mother?
DOCTOR. Your mother knows the truth.
GEORGE. But—
DOCTOR. Please, please. We have many very serious matters to discuss.
George goes to the door and brings in his mother. She bows to the doctor, makes a sign to him to be seated in the armchair near the fireplace, and sits down herself on the chair near the little table. George takes a seat to the left in front of the desk.
DOCTOR. I have written a prescription for the child which will, I hope, improve its condition and prevent any fresh disorders. But my duty, and yours, does not stop there. If it is not too late, the health of the nurse must be protected.
MME. DUPONT. Tell us what we must do.
DOCTOR. She must stop giving milk to the child.
MME. DUPONT. You mean that we must change the nurse?
DOCTOR. No. I mean that the child cannot continue to be fed at the breast either by this nurse or by any healthy nurse.
MME. DUPONT. Why?
DOCTOR. Because the child would communicate its complaint to the person who gave it milk.
MME. DUPONT. But, doctor, if the baby is brought up on the bottle it will die.
GEORGE [breaking into sobs] Oh, my poor little girl! Oh, my God, it’s me! Oh! Oh!
DOCTOR. Careful treatment, with sterilized milk—
MME. DUPONT. That may succeed with healthy children, but at the age of three months a sickly child such as ours cannot be fed by hand. Such a child has all the more need of being fed at the breast. That is true?
DOCTOR. Yes; but—
MME. DUPONT. In that case you will realize that between the life of the child and the health of a nurse I have no choice.
GEORGE [sobbing] Oh! Oh! Oh!
DOCTOR. Your affection leads you to express an incredible sentiment. But it is not for you to choose. I shall forbid the child to be brought up at the breast. The health of this woman does not belong to you.
MME. DUPONT. Nor the life of our child to you. If there is one way to save its life, it is to give it every possible attention, and you want me to treat it in a way that you doctors condemn even for healthy children. My little one! You think I will let her die like that! Oh, I shall take good care she does not. Neglect the one single thing that can save her! It would be criminal. As for the nurse, we will indemnify her. We will do everything in our power, everything but that. No, no, no! Whatever can be done for our baby shall be done, cost what it may. But that—You don’t consider what you are asking. It would be as if I killed my child. [Bursting into tears] Oh, my little angel, my own little Saviour!
George has not stopped sobbing since he first began. At his mother’s last words his sobs become almost cries. His anguish is pitiable to see.
GEORGE. Oh, oh, oh! My little child! My little child! Oh, oh! [In an undertone] Oh, what a scoundrel I am! What a criminal!
DOCTOR. Calm yourself, madam, I beg. You will not improve matters in this way. Try to consider them coolly.
MME. DUPONT. You are right. I beg your pardon. But if you knew how much this child is to me. I lost one at the same age. I am old and widowed—I did not expect to live to see my grandchildren. You are right. George, be calm—we will show our love by being calm. Now then, we will talk seriously and coldly. But I warn you that you will not succeed in making me consent to any but the very best conditions for the child. I shall not let her be killed by being taken from the breast!
DOCTOR. This is not the first time I have found myself in this situation, and I must begin by telling you that parents who have refused to be guided by my advice have invariably repented of it most bitterly.
MME. DUPONT. The only thing of which I shall repent—
DOCTOR. You are evidently unaware of what the rapacity and malice of peasants such as this nurse are capable, especially against those of superior station. In this case, moreover, her enmity would be legitimate.
MME. DUPONT. Oh! What can she do?
DOCTOR. She can bring an action against you.
MME. DUPONT. She is far too stupid to think of such a thing.
DOCTOR. Others will put it into her head.
MME. DUPONT. She is too poor to pay the expenses of going to law.
DOCTOR. Then you propose to profit by her ignorance and her poverty? Besides, she could obtain the assistance of the court.
MME. DUPONT. Never! Surely, never.
DOCTOR. Indeed? For my part I know at least ten such cases. In every case where the fact was proved, judgment was given against the parents.
MME. DUPONT. Not in a case like this! Not where the life of a poor innocent little child was at stake. You must be mistaken.
DOCTOR. Many of the facts have been identical. I can give you the dates.
GEORGE [rising] I have the law reports here. [He takes a volume and hands it to the doctor].
MME. DUPONT. It is needless.
DOCTOR [to George] You can convince yourself. In one or two cases the parents have been ordered to pay a yearly pension to the nurse; in the others sums of money varying from three to eight thousand francs.
MME. DUPONT. If we had to fight an action, we should retain the very best lawyer on our side. Thank heaven we are rich enough. No doubt he would make it appear doubtful whether the child had not caught this disease from the nurse, rather than the nurse from the child.
DOCTOR. Allow me to point out that such conduct would be atrocious.
MME. DUPONT. Oh, it is a lawyer’s business to do such things. I should not have to say anything. In any case you may be sure that he would win our suit.
DOCTOR. And have you considered the scandal that would ensue.
GEORGE [turning to a page in the reports] Here is the judgment you were speaking of—six thousand francs.
DOCTOR. You can make Madame Dupont read it afterwards. Since you have the reports there, kindly give me the volume before this. [George goes again to the bookcase. To Madame Dupont] Have you thought of the scandal?
GEORGE [coming back] But, doctor, allow me to point out: in reports of this kind the names are suppressed.
DOCTOR. They are not suppressed in court.
GEORGE. True.
DOCTOR. Are you sure that no paper would publish a full account of the case?
MME. DUPONT. Oh, how infamous!
DOCTOR. You see what a horrible scandal it would be for you. [George nods] A catastrophe, absolutely.
GEORGE. Particularly for a notary like me. [He goes to get the other volume].
MME. DUPONT. We will prevent her from bringing an action. We will give her what she wants.
DOCTOR. Then you will expose yourself to be indefinitely blackmailed. I know one family which has paid hush-money of this kind for twelve years.
GEORGE. We could make her sign a receipt.
DOCTOR. In full settlement of all claims?
GEORGE. Exactly so. Here is the volume.
MME. DUPONT. She would be only too glad to go back to her people with enough money to buy a little house and a plot of land. To a woman of her position it would be wealth.
The nurse comes in.
NURSE. Baby’s waked up, sir.
DOCTOR. I will come and see her. [To Madame Dupont] We will finish what we were saying presently.
MME. DUPONT. Very well. Do you want the nurse?
DOCTOR. No, thank you.
The doctor goes out.
MME. DUPONT. Nurse, just wait a minute. I want to speak to you. [In an undertone to her son] I know how we can manage. If we warn her and she agrees to stay, the doctor will have nothing more to say, will he?
GEORGE. I suppose not.
MME. DUPONT. I will promise her two thousand francs when she goes if she consents to stay on as wet-nurse.
GEORGE. Is that enough, do you think?
MME. DUPONT. At any rate I will try. If she hesitates I will make it more.
GEORGE. All right.
MME. DUPONT [turning to the nurse] Nurse, you know that baby is a little ill.
NURSE. Oh no, ma’am.
MME. DUPONT. Indeed she is.
NURSE. I’ve looked after her as well as possible, I know I have, ma’am.
MME. DUPONT. I do not say you have not. But she is ill: the doctors say so.
NURSE. That’s a fine story! As if doctors weren’t always finding something, so that you mayn’t think they don’t know their business!
MME. DUPONT. But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself that baby has little pimples.
NURSE. Oh ma’am, that’s nothing but the heat of her blood. Don’t you worry about it, I tell you it’s only the strength of her blood. It isn’t my fault. I’ve always done everything for her and kept her that clean and proper.
MME. DUPONT. No one says that it is your fault.
NURSE. Then what are you finding fault with me about? Ah, there isn’t anything the matter with her. The pretty little darling, she’s a regular town baby she is, just a bit poorly; but she’s all right, I promise you.
MME. DUPONT. I tell you she is ill: she has a cold in her head and there are sores at the back of her throat.
NURSE. Then that’s because the doctor scratched her with the spoon he put into her mouth by the wrong end. And if she has a little cold, I don’t know when she caught it, I’m sure I don’t: I always keep her that well wrapped up, she has three thicknesses of things on. It must have been when you came the time before last and opened all the windows in the house.
MME. DUPONT. But I tell you that nobody is finding fault with you at all.
NURSE. Oh yes, I know. That’s all very well. I’m only a poor country girl.
MME. DUPONT. What do you mean?
NURSE. Oh, that’s all very well, it is.
MME. DUPONT. But I have told you over and over again that we have no fault to find.
NURSE [sticking to her idea] I never expected any unpleasantness when I came here. [She begins to whimper].
MME. DUPONT. We have no fault to find with you. Only we want to warn you, you may catch the baby’s illness—
NURSE [sulkily] Well, if I do catch a cold, it won’t be the first time I’ve had to blow my nose, I suppose.
MME. DUPONT. Perhaps you may get her pimples.
NURSE [sneering] Oh ma’am, we country folks haven’t got nice, delicate, white skins like Paris ladies have. When you have to work in the fields all day, rain or shine, you don’t need to plaster your face all over with cream, I can tell you. No offence meant, but if you want to find an excuse, that isn’t much of a one.
MME. DUPONT. What do you mean? What excuse?
NURSE. Oh yes, I know.
MME. DUPONT. What do you know?
NURSE. I’m only a poor country girl, I am.
MME. DUPONT. I have not the slightest idea what you mean.
NURSE. Oh, I know what I mean.
MME. DUPONT. Then tell me what you mean.
NURSE. Oh, what’s the good?
MME. DUPONT. Tell me, please? I insist.
NURSE. Oh, very well—
MME. DUPONT. Go on.
NURSE. Oh, all right. I may be only a poor country girl, but I’m not quite so stupid as that. I know what it is you want. Just because master’s cross at your having promised me thirty francs a month more if I came to Paris. [Turning to George] Well, and what do you expect? Mustn’t I have my own little boy looked after? And hasn’t his father got to eat and drink? We’re only poor country folks, we are.
GEORGE. You’re making a mistake, nurse. There’s nothing at all the matter. My mother was quite right to promise you the thirty francs extra, and the only thing in my mind is that she did not promise you enough. Now I have decided when baby is old enough to have a dry-nurse and you leave us, just to show how grateful we are, to give you, er—
MME. DUPONT. We shall make you a present, you understand, over and above your wages. We shall give you five hundred francs, or perhaps a thousand. That is, of course, if baby is in perfectly good health.
NURSE [stupefied] You’ll give me five hundred francs—for myself—[Struggling to understand] But you haven’t got to. We didn’t agree to that.
MME. DUPONT. No.
NURSE [to herself] What’s up, then?
MME. DUPONT. It is simply because baby will require more attention. You will have rather more trouble with her. You will have to give her her medicine and so on. It may be a little difficult for you.
NURSE. Ah, I see. So that you may be sure I shall look after her well. You say to yourself: ‘Nurse has an interest in her.’ I see.
MME. DUPONT. That is understood, then?
NURSE. Yes, ma’am.
MME. DUPONT. Very good. You will not come afterwards and complain of the way we have treated you. We have warned you that the child is ill and that you may catch her illness. To make up for that, and because you will have more trouble with her, we will give you five hundred francs when your time here is over. That is understood?
NURSE. But you said a thousand francs, ma’am.
MME. DUPONT. Very well; a thousand francs, then.
GEORGE [passing to the right behind the other two and drawing his mother aside] It’s a pity that we can’t get her to sign that.
MME. DUPONT [to the nurse] So that there may be no misunderstanding about the sum—you see I forgot just now that I said a thousand francs—we will draw up a little paper which we shall sign on our side and you will sign on your side.
NURSE. Very good, ma’am; I understand.
The doctor comes back.
MME. DUPONT. Here is the doctor. You may go, nurse; that is all right.
NURSE. Yes, ma’am. [To herself] What’s up, then? A thousand francs? What’s the matter with the baby? Has she got something bad, I wonder? [She passes to the left, between the desk and window, and goes out].
DOCTOR. The condition is unchanged. There is no need for anxiety. [He sits down at the desk to write a prescription].
MME. DUPONT. I am glad to tell you, doctor, that you can now devote yourself to the baby and the nurse without misgiving. While you have been away we have informed the nurse of the circumstances, and agreed with her that she shall stay with us in return for a certain sum of money.
DOCTOR. The disease which the nurse will almost infallibly contract in giving her milk to the child is, I fear, too serious to be made the subject of a bargain, however large the sum of money. She might be completely crippled, even if she did not die of it.
MME. DUPONT. But she accepts.
DOCTOR. It is not only that she would be rendered incapable of serving in future as wet nurse without danger to the infants she suckled. The results of the disease to herself might be inconsiderable; but at the same time, I repeat, they might, in spite of everything we could do, cast a terrible blight upon her life.
MME. DUPONT. But I tell you she accepts. She has the right to do what she pleases.
DOCTOR. I am not sure that she has the right to sell her own health, but I am sure that she has not the right to sell the health of her husband and of her children. If she contracts this disease, she will almost certainly communicate it to both of them; and, further, the life and health of any children she might afterwards have would be gravely endangered. You understand now that it is impossible for her to make a bargain of this kind. If the mischief is not already done, every effort must be made to prevent it.
MME. DUPONT. You say: ‘If the mischief is not done.’ Can you not be certain?
DOCTOR. Not as yet. There is a period of five or six weeks between the moment of contracting the disease and the appearance of its first symptoms.
MME. DUPONT. You think of nothing but the nurse. You do not think of our poor little baby. What can we do? We cannot let her die.
GEORGE. We can’t, we can’t!
DOCTOR. Neither can you endanger the life of this woman.
MME. DUPONT. You are not defending our interests!
DOCTOR. I am defending those of the weakest.
MME. DUPONT. If we had called in our own doctor, he would have taken our side.
DOCTOR. I doubt it. [Rising] But there is still time to send for him.
GEORGE. Mother! I beg you not to go, doctor.
MME. DUPONT [supplicating him] Oh, don’t abandon us! You can make allowances—If you only knew what this child was to me! I feel as if I had staved off death to wait for it. Have pity on us! Our poor little girl—she is the weakest, surely. Have pity on her! When you saw her tiny, suffering body, did you not feel any pity for her? Oh, I beseech you!
GEORGE. Doctor, we implore you!
DOCTOR. Indeed I pity her and I will do everything in my power to save her. But you must not ask me to sacrifice the health of a young and strong woman to that of a sickly infant. I will be no party to giving this woman a disease that would embitter the lives of her whole family, and almost certainly render her sterile.
MME. DUPONT [in a stifled voice] Oh, are there not enough of these peasants in the world!
DOCTOR. I beg your pardon?
MME. DUPONT [in the same tone] I said that if she had no more children, there would only be the fewer to be unhappy.
DOCTOR. It is useless for us to continue this discussion.
MME. DUPONT [rousing herself] I shall not take your advice! I shall not listen to you!
DOCTOR. There is one here already who regrets not having done so.
GEORGE. Yes, O God, yes!
MME. DUPONT [more and more exalted] I do not care! I do not care if I am punished for it in this world and the next! If it is a crime, if it is a sin, I accept all the responsibility, however heavy it may be! Yes, yes! If it must be, I will lose my soul to save our child’s life, our little one’s! I know that hell exists for the wicked: that is one of my profoundest convictions. Then let God judge me—if I am damned, so much the worse for me!
DOCTOR. I shall not allow you to take that responsibility. To enable you to do so, my consent would be necessary, and I refuse it.
MME. DUPONT. What do you mean?
DOCTOR. I shall speak to the nurse and give her the fullest particulars, which I am convinced you have not done.
MME. DUPONT. What! You, a doctor, would betray family secrets entrusted to you in the strictest confidence! Secrets of this kind!
DOCTOR. The betrayal, if it is one, is forced on me by the law.
MME. DUPONT. The law! I thought you were bound to secrecy?
DOCTOR [turning the pages of the volume of reports] Not in this case. Here is a judgment given by the court at Dijon: I thought that I might have to read it to you. [Reading] ‘A doctor who knowingly omits to inform a nurse of the dangers incurred by her in giving milk to a syphilitic child may be held responsible in damages for the results caused by her ignorance.’ You see that the law is against you, as well as your conscience; and I may add that, even were it not so, I should not allow you to be led by your feelings into committing such a crime. If you do not consent to have the child fed by hand, I shall either speak to the nurse or give up the case.
MME. DUPONT. You dare to threaten us! Oh, you know the power that your knowledge gives you! You know what need we are in of your services and that if you abandon us perhaps our child will die! And if we give way to you, she will die all the same! [Wildly] O my God, my God, why cannot I sacrifice myself? Oh, if only my aged body could take the place of this woman’s young flesh, and my poor dry breasts give to our child the milk that would save her life! With what joy I would give myself up to this disease! With what rapture I would suffer the most horrible ravages that it could inflict on me! Oh, if I could but offer myself, without fear and without regret!
GEORGE [flings himself into her arms with sobs and cries of] Mother! Mother! Mother!
They weep.
DOCTOR [to himself, moved] Poor people! Poor people!
MME. DUPONT [sitting down with an air of resignation] Tell us what we must do.
DOCTOR. Keep the nurse here as dry-nurse so that she may not carry the infection elsewhere. We will feed the child by hand, and I beg you in all sincerity not to exaggerate the danger that will result from the change. I have every hope of restoring the baby to health in a short space of time; and I assure you that I will use every possible effort to bring about a happy conclusion. I will call again to-morrow. Good-day.
MME. DUPONT [without moving] Thank you, doctor.
GEORGE [going to the door and shaking hands] Thank you, thank you. [The doctor goes out. George comes back and goes to his mother with outstretched arms] Mother!
MME. DUPONT [repulsing him] Let me be.
GEORGE [checking himself] Are we not unhappy enough, without hating one another?
MME. DUPONT. It is God who visits upon your child the sins of its father.
GEORGE [raising his shoulders gloomily] You believe that: when there is not a man alive so wicked and unjust as to commit such an act!
MME. DUPONT. Oh, I know you believe in nothing.
GEORGE. Not in that kind of God.
The nurse, who comes in by the left soon after the doctor has gone out, appears.
NURSE. If you please, ma’am, I’ve been thinking: I would rather go away at once and only have the five hundred francs.
MME. DUPONT. What do you say? You want to leave us?
NURSE. Yes, ma’am.
GEORGE. But ten minutes ago you didn’t want to.
MME. DUPONT. What has happened?
NURSE. I’ve been thinking.
MME. DUPONT. Thinking! About what?
NURSE. Well, I want to go back to my baby and my husband.
GEORGE. But ten minutes ago—there must be something else.
MME. DUPONT. Evidently there is something else.
NURSE. No, ma’am.
MME. DUPONT. But there must be!
NURSE. Well then, I’m afraid that Paris doesn’t suit me.
MME. DUPONT. How can you tell without waiting to try?
NURSE. I’d rather go back home at once.
MME. DUPONT. At least tell us why.
NURSE. I have told you. I’ve been thinking.
MME. DUPONT. What about?
NURSE. I’ve been thinking.
MME. DUPONT. Oh, don’t say that over and over again! ’I’ve been thinking, I’ve been thinking.’ What have you been thinking about?
NURSE. About everything.
MME. DUPONT. Can’t you tell us about what?
NURSE. I tell you: about everything.
MME. DUPONT. Idiot!
GEORGE [stepping in front of his mother] Let me speak to her.
NURSE. I know we’re only poor country folk.
GEORGE. Listen to me, nurse. Just now you were not only satisfied with your wages, but you were afraid we were going to send you away. In addition to your wages we have promised to give you a large sum of money at the end of your time here—and now you want to leave us, at once! Come now, you must have some sort of reason. Has anyone been doing anything to you?
NURSE. No, sir.
GEORGE. Well then?
NURSE. I’ve been thinking.
GEORGE [exasperated] Don’t go on repeating that silly thing! What do you mean by it? [Gently] Come, come, tell me why you want to go away. [Silence] Eh?
NURSE. I have told you.
GEORGE. One might as well talk to a block of wood.
MME. DUPONT [coming forward] But you have no right to leave us.
NURSE. Yes, I want to go away.
MME. DUPONT. I shall not allow you to go!
GEORGE. Oh well, let her go; after all we can’t keep her by force. [To the nurse] Since you want to go, you shall go: but I can only say that you’re as stupid as a cow.
NURSE. I don’t mind if I am.
GEORGE. I shall not pay you for the month that has just begun, and you will pay for your own railway ticket.
NURSE. We’ll see about that.
GEORGE. Yes, you will see. You’ll see this moment, too! Be off with you, I don’t want you any longer. Now then!
MME. DUPONT. Don’t fly into a rage, George. [To the nurse] You don’t mean it seriously, nurse, surely?
NURSE. I would rather go back home at once and only have my five hundred francs.
GEORGE. What’s that?
MME. DUPONT. What are you talking about?
GEORGE. Five hundred francs?
MME. DUPONT. What five hundred francs?
NURSE. The five hundred francs you promised me, to be sure!
GEORGE. We never promised you anything of the sort!
NURSE. Yes, you did.
MME. DUPONT. Yes, when you had finished nursing the baby and if we were satisfied with you.
NURSE. No, you said you would give me five hundred francs when I left. Now I’m going away, so I want them.
MME. DUPONT. You will please not address me in that tone, you understand.
NURSE. You’ve only got to give me my money and I shan’t say a word more.
GEORGE. Oh, that’s it, is it? Very well, I discharge you on the spot. Now, then, be off with you.
MME. DUPONT. I should think so, indeed.
GEORGE. Off you go!
NURSE. Give me my five hundred francs.
GEORGE [pointing furiously at the door] Take your blasted carcase out of this. Do you hear?
NURSE. Hullo, hullo! You speak to me a bit more politely, can’t you?
GEORGE. Will you get out of this, or have I got to send for the police?
NURSE. The police! What for, eh, what for?
GEORGE. To chuck you out, you—
NURSE. Well, and what am I? I’m only a country girl, I am. I may be a bit stupid—
MME. DUPONT. Stupid! I should think you were. You have no more brains than a mule.
NURSE. I may be stupid, but I’m not—
MME. DUPONT [interrupting] You have no more heart than a stone. You are a wicked woman.
GEORGE. You’re no better than a thief.
NURSE. Oh, a thief am I? I should like to know why.
GEORGE. Because you’re trying to get money that isn’t yours.
MME. DUPONT. Because you are deserting our baby. You are a wicked woman.
GEORGE. Do you want me to put you out? [He takes her by the arm].
NURSE. Oh, that’s it, is it? So you want me to tell you why I’m going?
GEORGE. Now then, out with it.
MME. DUPONT. Well, why is it?
Henriette enters at the back. In the noise of the quarrel no one perceives her.
NURSE. Very well, then. I’m going away because I don’t want to catch your beastly diseases here.
MME. DUPONT. Be quiet, will you?
GEORGE. Shut up, can’t you?
NURSE. Oh, you needn’t be afraid; everyone knows about it. Justin listened at the door to what your doctor was saying and told me what was up. Oh, I may be stupid, but I’m not so stupid as that. I’m going to have my money and get out of this.
GEORGE. Shut up!
MME. DUPONT [taking her by the arm] Hold your tongue, I tell you.
NURSE. Let me go! Let me go! I know your brat’s not going to live. I know it’s rotten through and through because its father’s got a beastly disease that he caught from some woman of the streets.
Henriette, with two hoarse cries, falls to the ground in a fit of nervous sobbing.
GEORGE [rushing towards her] My God!
Henriette eludes him and pulls herself up with disgust, hatred, and horror depicted all over her.
HENRIETTE [shrieking like a mad woman] Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!