[Enter Alphonse, with an armful of firewood.
Stands horrified on the threshold,
then rushes forward.
Alph. Ah-h-h-h! 'tite diablesse! va-t-en! I'm goin' to shake the life out of you, singe!
[A boot whizzes past his ear, from the direction
of the alcove.
LeB. [imperiously]. Let her alone, you rascal! If you dare to touch her I'll thrash you within an inch of your life!
Alph. [obsequiously]. Yaa-as, M'sieu Henri.
M.-M. [maliciously, half whispering]. Walk jes' so! [Makes a face at Alphonse. Aloud.] I'ze dat gemplum's nigger whar is dar in de bade, an' I gwine he'p mek he fiah. [Alphonse goes viciously to work to make the fire, frustrating Minty-Malviny's attempts when possible, snatching the poker away from her, etc. She is exasperatingly pleasant and superior.] You ain' bresh de hearf. [He does so, and gathers up the rubbish with one last grimace.]
Alph. [at door]. Singe!
[Exit.
M.-M. [tossing her head and chuckling]. Dat French nigger don' dass say nuffin to me, no mo'!
[Enter LeBreton from alcove, tying the
cords of his dressing gown.