Macaire. Not yet, but in five minutes. I am capable of anything. (Producing key.) What think you of this?
Bertrand. That? Is it a key?
Macaire. Ay, boy, and what besides? my diploma of respectability, my patent of fatherhood. I prigged it—in the ardour of the dance I prigged it; I change it beyond recognition, thus (twists the handle of the key); and now...? Where is my long-lost child? produce my young policeman, show me my gallant boy.
Bertrand. I don’t understand.
Macaire. Dear innocence, how should you? Your brains are in your fists. Go and keep watch. (He goes into the office and returns with the cash-box.) Keep watch, I say.
Bertrand. Where?
Macaire. Everywhere. (He opens box.)
Bertrand. Gold.
Macaire. Hands off! Keep watch. (Bertrand at back of stage.) Beat slower, my paternal heart! The third compartment! let me see.
Bertrand. S’st! (Macaire shuts box.) No: false alarm.