Mme. de Céran. Yes.
Duchess. Your reading is to be in the next room, isn’t it? Get the people out of here, will you? I shall need this room at once.
Mme. de Céran. Why?
Duchess. I’ll tell you during the tragedy.
Servant. (Announcing) Monsieur le vicomte de Gaiac! Monsieur des Millets!
(Enter de Gaiac and des Millets.)
Duchess. Well—I—look at your poet! There he is!
Several Voices. The poet!—The young poet!—Where?—Where is he?
Gaiac. Will you ever forgive me, Countess? I was kept at the office. (Aside) I was writing up your soirée!—Monsieur des Millets, my friend the tragic poet, whose talent you will soon have an opportunity of appreciating.
Des Millets. (Bowing) Madame la comtesse!