Gabrielle. What do you mean by “the rest”? Do you want me to write out the bills, for instance?
Forjot. Never mind the bills: my shopman does that. But I see no reason why you should not stay in the shop and receive clients, and, when there is a press of work, lend me a helping hand with the correspondence.
Gabrielle. Don’t expect me to do anything of the sort.
It is the old story: the bourgeois husband and the beautiful, dissatisfied, ambitious wife, who rebels at her dull surroundings, who believes herself “wasted,” who is tempted by a sympathetic admirer; and who falls. Rametty, director of the Nantes Theatre, is Gabrielle’s lover. His ardent prayer that she should accompany him on one of his tours and win the fame that inevitably awaits her, rings constantly in her ears. She resists, chiefly for the sake of her daughter, Pascaline. But the temptation to fly becomes irresistible when, on the night of one of Forjot’s concerts, audience, friends, her lover, and even a popular composer from Paris, delight, intoxicate her with their praise. Forjot, however, stands aloof; the eulogies of the popular composer—respectfully known as Le Maître—exasperate him.
Le Maître. Madame Forjot has sung admirably. Let me give my testimony. I do not know anyone, you mark me, I say anyone, and I am not excepting the most celebrated vocalists—I do not know anyone capable of singing this air with such mastery.
Forjot. Oh, you exaggerate, surely, her talent, Master. You are too indulgent.
Le Maître. I am not indulgent. Madame is an incomparable lyrical tragedian. But, madame, you must not remain en province—it would be a crime.
In ecstasies is Gabrielle. In the heavens is Gabrielle. But she soon comes to earth again, when at last she and her husband find themselves alone. Forjot has returned to his ledgers—is making up his accounts. He has not a word to say of his wife’s success. He is entirely absorbed in the night’s receipts. He counts under his breath; he rustles the pages of his ledgers; he is—to Gabrielle—exasperating, maddening, intolerable.
And the storm bursts when Gabrielle, beside herself with rage, dashes one of the ledgers to the ground.