Mad. A. I wonder if he means that. He never said anything so civil before. I've a great mind to—
[Going.
Mlle H. Stay—that letter of the steward's which you found in the park—
Mad. A. Well?
Mlle H. Have you got it with you?
Mad. A. Of course.
Mlle H. Give it to me.
Mad. A. To you! Why?
Mlle H. No matter. Suffice it that my hopes, and yours—the very life of all our plans—depend on the use I shall make of that letter.
Mad. A. Oh, well, take it. [Gives letter.] I'm sure you'll make much better use of it than I can. [Aside.] Upon my life I'll go and ask Bevannes what he meant by that.