Notary. I know.
Dumont. Perhaps a glass of wine would clear him?
Notary. That’s what I want. (They go out, L. U. E.)
Aline. And now, if you’ve done deranging my table, to the cellar for the wine, the whole pack of you. (Manet sola, considering table.) There: it’s like a garden. If I had as sweet a table for my wedding, I would marry the Notary.
SCENE III
The Stage remains vacant. Enter, by door L. C., Macaire, followed by Bertrand with bundle; in the traditional costume
Macaire. Good! No police.
Bertrand (looking off, L. C.). Sold again!
Macaire. This is a favoured spot, Bertrand: ten minutes from the frontier: ten minutes from escape. Blessings on that frontier line! The criminal hops across, and lo! the reputable man. (Reading) ‘Auberge des Adrets, by John Paul Dumont.’ A table set for company; this is fate: Bertrand, are we the first arrivals? An office; a cabinet; a cash-box—aha! and a cash-box, golden within. A money-box is like a Quaker beauty: demure without, but what a figure of a woman! Outside gallery: an architectural feature I approve; I count it a convenience both for love and war: the troubadour—twang-twang; the craftsmen—(makes as if turning key.) The kitchen window: humming with cookery; truffles, before Jove! I was born for truffles. Cock your hat: meat, wine, rest, and occupation; men to gull, women to fool, and still the door open, the great unbolted door of the frontier!
Bertrand. Macaire, I’m hungry.