The salon of a house in the country. A July night. At the back through glass doors you see the garden brilliantly lighted by the moon. As you look out you have two doors on your right-hand side, and to your left, in a cross-wall, the door of the bedroom, inside which part of the bed is visible. The fireplace is to your right. When the curtain rises Antonin, Courthezon and Caroline are on the stage; Caroline is doing up a parcel.
ANTONIN. That’s settled, then, M. Courthezon. I’ll write to the Bordeaux people about your invention this evening.
COURTHEZON. I am greatly obliged to you, M. Antonin. You’ll write this evening without fail, won’t you? M. Smith is leaving tomorrow.
ANTONIN. Without fail.
COURTHEZON. Shall I post the letter for you on my way through the town?
ANTONIN. Well—it’s rather a difficult letter to write. It’ll take a little time. Lignol, whom you met at dinner out in the garden, has to go back tonight. He’ll take it.
COURTHEZON. It’s very good of you.
ANTONIN. And now let’s go and have our coffee.
COURTHEZON. Not for me, thanks. I’m afraid I ought to go by the 8.9 train. I shall be taking some china for Mdlle. Caroline and the drawings.
ANTONIN. As you please. Good-bye, then.