Bertha. Don't worry, motherkins. There's still a chance.
Madame Vagret. It's easy for you to talk. You see the newspapers are beginning to grumble. They reproach us, they say we are slack. My dear child, you don't realize—there 's a question of sending a detective down from Paris! It would be such a disgrace! And everything promised so well! You can't imagine how excited your father was when they waked him up to tell him that an old man of eighty-seven had been murdered in his district! He dressed himself in less than five minutes. He was very quiet about it. But he gripped my hands. "I think," he said, "I think we can count on my nomination this time!" [She sighs] And now everything is spoilt, and all through this ruffian who won't let them arrest him! [Another sigh] What's the time?
Bertha. It has just struck six.
Madame Vagret. Write out the menus. Don't forget. You must write only their titles—his Honor the President of Assizes, his Honor the President of the High Court of Mauleon, and so forth. It's the preamble to the menu. Don't forget. Here is your father. Go and take a look round the kitchen and appear as if you were busy. [Bertha leaves the room. Vagret enters in evening dress]
Scene II:—Vagret, Madame Vagret.
Madame Vagret. Hasn't the Court risen yet?
Vagret. When I left my substitute was just getting up to ask for the adjournment.
Madame Vagret. Nothing new?
Vagret. About the murder? Nothing.
Madame Vagret. But your Monsieur Delorme—the examining magistrate—is he really looking for the murderer?