[She goes toward back, with her lips set.]
Diane [rising]. The truth is.... I can't tell you. It is something personal.
Nanette. Something personal? Perhaps you are mistaken in the Madame le Bargy ... this is Madame Jeanne le Bargy—the writer....
Diane. Yes, yes, I know. Mightn't I speak with her for a moment?
Nanette. That is impossible. Since the death of her son Madame le Bargy has seen no one. No one at all.
Diane. I might have known. Let me think. My mind has been so confused lately. I have been in such a state of mind—I don't know what to do. I came running here without any idea in my head. I felt that I would be all right if I could only see Madame le Bargy.
Nanette [tersely]. Perhaps Mademoiselle had better see the doctor. At the end of the street—number 27—you will find an excellent physician.
Diane. No physician on earth can cure me.
Nanette [after giving her an uneasy, distrustful look]. Well, since you cannot see Madame le Bargy, and since you have no message for her, I must ask you please to excuse me. I am busy.
[She stands waiting for Diane to go, regarding her with undisguised hostility.]