Mme. de Céran. A rich, intellectual, highly-educated and well-born orphan, niece of the Lord-Chancellor, who recommended her: she would be a splendid wife for Roger, and——
Duchess. That English iceberg? Brrrr! Just to kiss her would freeze the nose off his face! But you’re on a false scent. In the first place Bellac has his eye on her—yes, the Professor! He’s asked me too many questions about her to leave any doubt in my mind. And what is more, she seems fond of him.
Mme. de Céran. Lucy?
Duchess. Yes, Lucy,—like all the rest of you! You’re all mad over him. I know more about this than you do.—No, no! Lucy is not the woman for your son!
Mme. de Céran. I know your schemes: Suzanne is the woman!
Duchess. I don’t deny it. I have brought Suzanne here for that very purpose. I arranged that he should be her tutor and her master, so to speak, in order that he might marry her,—and marry her he shall!
Mme. de Céran. You have counted without me, Duchess; I shall never consent.
Duchess. And why not? A girl who——
Mme. de Céran. Is of questionable origin, questionable attraction, without education and manners.
Duchess. (Bursting into laughter) My living image at her age!