Gaiac. Crowned by the Academy, Madame la comtesse.
Jeanne. (To Paul, admiringly) Crowned!
Paul. (To Jeanne) Mediocritas!
Mme. de Céran. And this is your first attempt in the realm of the drama? Ah, well, maturity of years guarantees maturity of talent!
Des Millets. Alas, Madame la comtesse, the play was written fifteen years ago!
Ladies. Fifteen years!—Is it possible?! Really?
Gaiac. Ah, Des Millets has faith in his work! We must encourage those who have faith, should we not, ladies?
Mme. de Loudan. Of course! We must encourage the tragic form, must we not, General? Tragedy——
General. (Interrupting himself in his conversation with Virot) Eh? Oh, yes, tragedy! Horace! Cinna! Of course, we must! Tragedy is necessary for the masses—(To Des Millets) May we have the title?
Des. Millets. Philippe-Auguste!