Kate—But, gentlemen, gentlemen, not this way——
John—Well? [Quite suddenly he takes her in his arms, raises her face and kisses her on the mouth.]
Kate—[Crying out.] Not that way! Not that way!
James—That’s the way you bore him!
[The curtain drops behind them.]
THE VALET
The fields about Louis-Georges’ house grew green in early Spring, leaving the surrounding country in melancholy grey, for Louis-Georges was the only man who sowed his ground to rye.
Louis-Georges was of small stature. His face was oblong, too pale. A dry mouth lay crookedly beneath a nose ending in a slight bulb. His long animal-like arms swung half a rhythm ahead of his legs.
He prided himself on his farming, though he knew nothing about it. He surveyed the tender coming green with kindly good nature, his acres were always a month ahead of his neighbours’.