Bertrand. You, Macaire? you a father?
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.