Roger. Suzanne! That child! Nonsense!
Duchess. It doesn’t take so long for a child to change into a woman, you know.
Roger. Suzanne!
Duchess. Well, at least that is what your mother says.
Mme. de Céran. I say that that young lady is openly courting favor with a man much too serious to marry her, but gallant enough to amuse her, and to have this going on under my own roof,—though it isn’t as yet scandalous—is decidedly improper.
Duchess. (To Roger) Do you hear that?
Roger. But, Mother, you surprise me! Suzanne, a little child I left in short dresses, climbing trees, a child I used to punish with extra lessons, who used to jump on my knee and call me Daddy—— Come, come! It is impossible! Such demoralization at her age!
Duchess. Demoralization? Because she is in love! You are a true son of your mother, if there ever was one! At “her age”! You ought to have seen me when I was that old! There was a hussar, in a blue and silver uniform! He was superb! His brains were all in his sword-hilt! But at my age—! A young heart is like a new land: the discoverer is seldom the ruler. Now it seems—this Bellac—oh, it doesn’t seem possible, and yet—young girls, you know—- We must take care! (Aside) I don’t believe a word of it, but I’ll be on my guard!—And that is why I want you to do me the favor of burying your Tumuli and giving your attention to her, and her alone.
(Enter Suzanne.)
Suzanne. (Stealing up behind Roger, puts her hands over his eyes) Who is it?