Henri (in an exalted tone as though inspired, but not theatrically). Léocadie, my love, my wife ... all the past is over now. A great deal is blotted out on an occasion like this.
[Scaevola and Jules have gone to the back. Host comes forward again.]
Host. What sort of occasion?
Henri. We are united now by a holy sacrament. That means more than any human oath. God is now watching over us, and one ought to forget everything which has happened before. Léocadie, a new age is dawning. Everything becomes holy now, Léocadie. Our kisses, however wild they may be, are holy from henceforth. Léocadie, my love, my wife! (He contemplates her with an ardent glance.) Isn't her expression quite different. Prosper, from what you ever knew her to have before? Is not her forehead pure! What has been is blotted out—not so, Léocadie?
Léocadie. Surely, Henri.
Henri. And all is well. We leave Paris tomorrow. Léocadie makes her last appearance tonight at the Porte St. Martin, and I am placing here tonight for the last time.
Host. Are you mad, Henri? Do you want to desert me? Besides, the manager of the Porte St. Martin will never think of letting Léocadie go away. Why, she makes the fortune of his house. The young gentlemen stream thither, so they say.
Henri. Hold your peace. Léocadie will go with me. She will never desert me. Tell me that you will never desert me, Léocadie. (Brutally.) Tell me.
Léocadie. I will never desert you.
Henri. If you did, I would ... (pause). I am sick of this life. I want quiet—I wish to have quiet.