Mad. V. Is it not the place where, if one had money, one would naturally keep it?

Des. I suppose so. What of that?

Mad. V. See, sir, it is empty.

Des. What's that to me?

Mad. V. And his purse, also.

Des. What's that to you?

[Goes up and puts hat on table.

Mad. V. [Aside.] I dare not tell him that Manuel is without a meal—starving—I should never be forgiven. His pride would be wounded, and nothing could excuse that.

Des. Well, what are you cogitating about? Looking for something to dust?

Mad. V. I'm thinking of the Marquis, sir.