BRIGNAC. Ah! that’s the devil. Where—where? If only we had some friends we could trust, in some out-of-the-way place, far away. But we haven’t. Still, we must send her somewhere.
LUCIE. Oh, my God! [She sobs].
BRIGNAC [irritated] For Heaven’s sake don’t cry like that. That doesn’t mend matters. We must make some excuse. We’ll invent an aunt or a cousin who’s invited her to stay. I will find a decent house in Paris for her to go to. She’ll be all right there. When the time comes she can put the child out to nurse in the country, and come back to us. I shall certainly have got my promotion by that time: we shall have left this place, and the situation will be saved—as far as it can be saved.
LUCIE. You propose that to me and you think I shall consent to it!
BRIGNAC. Why not?
LUCIE. You’ve not stopped to think. That’s your only excuse.
BRIGNAC. I must say, I don’t see—
LUCIE. You seriously propose to send that poor child to Paris, where she doesn’t know a soul?
BRIGNAC. What do you mean by that? I will go to Paris myself, if necessary. There are special boarding-houses: very respectable ones. I’ll inquire: of course without letting out that it is for anyone I know. And I’ll pay what is necessary. What more can you want? We shall be sure of keeping the thing quiet that way. I believe there are houses in Paris subsidized by the State, and the people who stay in them need not even give their names.
LUCIE. I tell you, you’ve not stopped to think. Just when the child is most in need of every care, you propose to send her off alone; alone, do you understand, alone! To tear her away from here, put her into a train, and send her off to Paris, like a sick animal you want to get rid of. It would be enough to make her kill herself.