Bertrand (looking after him). Well, I—am—damned!
Drop.
ACT II.
When the curtain rises, the night has come. A hanging cluster of lighted lamps over each table, R. and L. Macaire, R., smoking a cigarette; Bertrand, L., with a church-warden: each with bottle and glass
SCENE I
Macaire, Bertrand
Macaire. Bertrand, I am content: a child might play with me. Does your pipe draw well?
Bertrand. Like a factory chimney. This is my notion of life: liquor, a chair, a table to put my feet on, a fine clean pipe, and no police.
Macaire. Bertrand, do you see these changing exhalations? do you see these blue rings and spirals, weaving their dance, like a round of fairies, on the footless air?
Bertrand. I see ’em right enough.