Not at all, mademoiselle! (At the door) Au revoir.
Actress
Good-by, and love to Steinamanger.
THE COUNT AND THE GIRL OF THE STREETS
It is morning toward six o’clock. A poorly furnished room with one window. The dirty yellowish blinds are down. Tattered, greenish curtains. On the dresser are several photographs, and beside them a cheap woman’s hat of conspicuously bad taste. Behind the mirror are cheap Japanese fans. On the table over which is drawn a reddish cover is an oil-lamp. It is burning low with a disagreeable odor, and has a shade of yellow paper. Beside it is a pitcher with remains of beer, and a half-empty glass.—On the floor beside the bed a woman’s clothes are lying in disorder. They look as though they had just been quickly thrown off. The Girl lies sleeping in the bed, breathing quietly. The Count is lying on the sofa fully dressed with his light overcoat on. His hat lies on the floor at the head of the sofa.
Count
(Stirs, rubs his eyes, sits up suddenly, remains seated, and looks around) Where am I?… Oh, yes … I actually went home with the woman, it seems… (He rises quickly, notices her bed) Oh, there she is… Queer, what sort of things can happen, even at my age. I haven’t the faintest notion, did they carry me up here? No… I remember—coming into the room… I was still awake then, or waked up … or … or maybe it’s only the room that reminds of something?… ’Pon my soul, yes, of course … it was yesterday I saw it… (Looks at his watch) What! yesterday, a couple of hours ago!—But, I knew, that something had to happen… I felt it in my bones … when I began to drink yesterday, I felt that … and what has happened?… Nothing… Or did there…? ’Pon my soul … for … for ten years it hasn’t happened to me that I don’t know… Well, let’s be honest at any rate, I was drunk… If I only knew since when… I remember perfectly when Bobby and I went into the all-night café, and … no, no… We left together … and then on the way… Yes, that’s it, Bobby and I rode in my carriage… But, why do I worry my brains about it? It doesn’t really matter. Let’s see that we get out of here. (Rises. The lamp shakes) Oh! (Looks at the sleeping Girl) Well, she sleeps the sleep of the just. I don’t remember anything—but I’ll put the money on the table … and then, good-by… (He stands in front of her, and looks at her for a considerable time) If I didn’t know what she is! (Studies her) I’ve known many who didn’t look as virtuous even in their sleep. ’Pon my soul… Bobby would say again, I’m philosophizing, but the truth is, sleep makes all equal, so it seems to me—like its brother, death… Hm, I should like to know, whether… No, I’d remember that… No, no, I dropped like a log on the sofa right away … and nothing happened… It is unbelievable how much alike all women sometimes look… Well, let’s go (He is about to go) Oh, of course.