COMPIÈGNE
[The Main Room over the Terrace of the Palace in Compiègne. An autumn night in 1782. The room is lit with many candles, and there is dancing. The Queen of France is present, the Court, and some few of the neighbouring gentry, among whom a Lady called Madame d'Escurolles, about forty, silent, and rather timid. A gentleman about the Court, a trifle older than herself, stands by and talks to her as she sits and looks at the dancing. He takes his title from Noirétable in the Forèz, but he has never been there.]
Madame d'Escurolles. I cannot see anything in the Queen of what you say, M. de Noirétable. She seems to be a little violent, but not vulgar.
Monsieur de Noirétable. It is precisely as you will, but I confess she spoils a room for me. The truth is that if she jostled and elbowed she would please me better; she always looks as though she would. I am disappointed in my amusement.
Madame d'Escurolles. M. de Noirétable, she is a good woman. I can see it in her eyes. They are very frank.
Monsieur de Noirétable. Oh! Yes! Madame, they are frank enough. They are being frank just now to half the room. Ugh! I have seen market women looking so, but only at the return from market (he pauses). Have you ridden to-day?
Madame d'Escurolles (laughing gently). No, sir, I have not ridden. We do not ride at my age in Compiègne ... but, tell me, do you not think there is something majestic about the Queen?... You must remember I have not seen her for three years, and it may be you are used to her carriage. But do you not admire that poise of the head and that high manner; or perhaps I should say, have you not admired them?