Anne. Old letters! [She clutches at the papers in his grasp.]
Valsin [easily fending her off]. Doubtless! [He shakes the "permit" open.] Oho! A permission to embark—and signed by three names of the highest celebrity. Alas, these unfortunate statesmen, Billaud Varennes, Carnot, and Robespierre! Each has lately suffered an injury to his right hand. What a misfortune for France! And what a coincidence! One has not heard the like since we closed the theatres.
Anne [furiously struggling to reach his hand]. Give me my papers! Give me—
Valsin [holding them away from her]. You see, these unlucky great men had their names signed for them by somebody else. And I should judge that this somebody else must have been writing quite recently—less than half an hour ago, from the freshness of the ink—and in considerable haste; perhaps suffering considerable anguish of mind, Widow Balsage! [Madame de Laseyne, overwhelmed, sinks into a chair. He comes close to her, his manner changing startlingly.]
Valsin [bending over with sudden menace, his voice loud and harsh]. Widow Balsage, if you intend no journey, why have you this forged permission to embark on the Jeune Pierrette? Widow Balsage, who is the Citizen Balsage?
Anne [faintly]. My brother.
Valsin [straightening up]. Your first truth. [Resuming his gaiety.] Of course he is not in that room yonder with your niece.
Anne [brokenly]. No, no, no; he is not! He is not here.
Valsin [commiseratingly]. Poor woman! You have not even the pleasure to perceive how droll you are.
Anne. I perceive that I am a fool! [She dashes the tears from her eyes and springs to her feet.] I also perceive that you have denounced us before the authorities here—