Roger. I merely wrote that I should arrive on Thursday.

Suzanne. That you would arrive on Thursday? Was that all, really? But why didn’t you write to me? Then I’d have been the first to see you.

Roger. But haven’t I written to you—often?

Suzanne. Often? Ten times. And then nothing but little insignificant notes at the bottom of someone else’s letter—the kind you’d write to a baby. I’m not a baby any longer: I’ve been thinking a lot these last six months; I’ve learned a heap of things.

Roger. What have you learned? (Suzanne leans against his shoulder and cries) Why, Suzanne, what’s wrong?

Suzanne. (Wiping her eyes and trying to laugh) And then I’ve worked—! Oh, how I worked! Piano, that horrid piano—I’m up to Schumann now, that’s proper enough, isn’t it?

Roger. Oh!

Suzanne. Shall I play you something of his?

Roger. Not now, later!

Suzanne. All right.—And I’ve learned so much!

Roger. You are attending Professor Bellac’s lectures, aren’t you? So he’s taken my place!

Suzanne. Yes, he’s been so nice! I love him, too.

Roger. Indeed!

Suzanne. Are you jealous of him?

Roger. I?

Suzanne. Tell me if you are; I’ll understand. I’m so jealous! But why should you be? You’re my father, aren’t you?

Roger. Oh, your father——

Suzanne. What’s wrong? Be nice to me, the way you used to!

Roger. The way I used to? Oh, no!

Suzanne. Yes, the way you used to! (She attempts to embrace him)

Roger. No, no, no, Suzanne, don’t do that!

Suzanne. Why not?

Roger. Come now, that’s enough! Run away now! (Sits on the sofa)

Suzanne. I like you that way!

Roger. Be a little bit reasonable.

Suzanne. Oh, we’ve had enough reasonableness for to-day. (She ruffles his hair, laughing)

Roger. Run away, now! A big girl like you!

Suzanne. (Jealously) If I were only Lucy——

Roger. Now, now! Please, dear!

Suzanne. There, you said “dear.” Forfeit! (She sits on his knee and kisses him)

Roger. Again!

Suzanne. All right, again! (She kisses him)

Roger. (Repulsing her as he rises) This is too much!

Suzanne. I’m an awful tease, am I not? Well, I’ll get my notebooks for you: they’ll calm us down a little. (She stops in the doorway and looks at him) Oh, here are the ladies and M. Bellac! What! Lucy in an evening gown? Wait one moment! (She runs out)

Roger. (Agitated) This is decidedly too much!

(Enter the Duchess.)

Duchess. Well?

Roger. Well——

Duchess. How excited you look!

Roger. You see, she was so affectionate—too affectionate!

Duchess. Yes, I advise you to complain! See what I have found! (She takes a mounted photograph from between the leaves of Suzanne’s notebook)

Roger. A picture——

Duchess. Of the Professor, yes——

Roger. In her notebook.

Duchess. But look here——

Roger. May I——?

The Ladies. (Outside) What a lovely lesson! Magnificent!

Duchess. There’s the beautiful object! Surrounded by his bodyguard!

(Enter Bellac, Madame Arriégo, Madame de Loudan, Madame de Saint-Réault, Madame de Céran, and Lucy.)

Mme. de Saint-Réault. Superb! Simply superb!

Bellac. Oh, spare me, Madame de Saint-Réault!

Mme. de Loudan. Ideal! I call it ideal!

Bellac. Marquise!

Mme. Arriégo. Beautiful! It stirred me to the depths of my being!

Bellac. Oh, Madame Arriégo!

Mme. de Loudan. Ladies, there is only one thing to say about it all! M. Bellac was so eloquent that he was positively dangerous! But then—isn’t he always a little dangerous?

Bellac. Please, Madame de Loudan!

Mme. de Loudan. I’m simply mad about your genius! Yes, indeed, mad! And about you, too! Oh, I don’t hide it. I tell everyone about it! Brazenly! You are one of the gods on my Olympus! You have become a fetish to me!

Mme. Arriégo. You know, I have his autograph in my pocket! (Displays locket) There!

Mme. de Loudan. (Shows a pen which she carries in the bosom of her gown) And I carry one of his pens!

Duchess. (Aside to Roger) Silly sheep!

Mme. de Loudan. (To Mme. de Céran) Ah, Countess, I didn’t see you at the lecture to-day?

Mme. de Céran. (Introducing Roger) Here is my excuse! Ladies, my son!

Ladies. Ah, Count!

Mme. de Loudan. The exile has returned!

Roger. (Bowing) Ladies!

Mme. de Céran. (Introduces Bellac to her son) Monsieur Bellac—Count Roger de Céran!

Mme. de Loudan. I see that your excuse was a good one—but Lucy?

Lucy. I was busy here.

Mme. de Loudan. How could you stay away, his Muse?

Bellac. (Gallantly) Ah, Marquise, I can only say that you were there!

Mme. de Loudan. He is charming! (To Lucy) You don’t know what you missed.

Lucy. Oh, I know——

Mme. Arriégo. No, she can have no idea! It was a burning flame, a fire of passion!

Mme. de Loudan. What flowing eloquence! What delicacy of imagination!

Bellac. With such an audience, who could not be eloquent?

Duchess. And what was the subject to-day?

Ladies. LOVE!

Duchess. (To Roger) Of course!

Mme. Arriégo. So poetic!

Mme. de Loudan. And so scientific! He is half psychologist, half dreamer; he plays with the scalpel as well as the lyre! It was—there was only one thing I couldn’t agree with: that the basis of love is instinct.

Bellac. But, Marquise, I was speaking of——

Mme. de Loudan. Oh, no, no!

Bellac. I was speaking of love in Nature!

Mme. de Loudan. Instinct! The idea! Ladies, come, we must defend ourselves! Help me. Come to the rescue, Lucy!

Bellac. She will not help you, Marquise; she agrees with me.

Mme. de Saint-Réault. Is it possible, Lucy?

Lucy. Instinct?

Mme. de Saint-Réault. In love?

Mme. de Loudan. That would be robbing the soul of its most precious possession: according to you, then, Lucy, nothing is good, or bad.

Lucy. (Coldly) There is no question about good or bad, Madame, it is merely a question of the existence of the species.

Ladies. (Protesting) Oh!

Duchess. (Aside) She’s prosaic enough about it!

Mme. de Loudan. (Indignantly) Why, you’re stripping love of all its romance!

Lucy. Hunter and Darwin——

Mme. de Loudan. No one better than I knows the weaknesses of the flesh. Matter dominates and masters us! I know it, I feel it! But leave us at least the psychic refuge of pure ecstasy!

Bellac. But, Marquise——

Mme. de Loudan. Be quiet, you’re a villain! I will not deny my god; that would be sacrilege. I’m very angry with you!

Duchess. (Aside) Little fool!

Bellac. I hope we shall be reconciled, after you read my book.

Mme. de Loudan. But when will that be? The entire world is waiting for that book! And you don’t say a word about it! You won’t even tell us the title!

Ladies. Tell us the title! At least the title!

Mme. Arriégo. Lucy, you make him tell us.

Lucy. Well, what is the title?

Bellac. (To Lucy, after a moment’s hesitation) “Miscellanies.”

Mme. de Loudan. Oh, how lovely! But when does it appear?

Bellac. I am hurrying it through the press, and I count on its helping me to the honor to which I aspire.

Mme. de Céran. To which you aspire?

Mme. Arriégo. What more can he wish?

Mme. de Loudan. What more can the child of Fortune wish?

Bellac. Poor Revel is on his last legs, you know. In the event of anything happening to him, I have announced myself as candidate for the position of director of the New School.

Duchess. (To Mme. de Céran) Number three!

Bellac. Ladies, if Revel should die—which God forbid!—I recommend myself to your good graces, and your influence.

Ladies. You may count on us, Bellac!

Bellac. (Approaching the Duchess) And you, Duchess, may I hope——?

Duchess. You mustn’t ask me anything before dinner. The weakness of the flesh “dominates me,” as Madame de Loudan says. (The clock strikes) There, you have only fifteen minutes! Get dressed at once, and we’ll talk the matter over at table.

Mme. de Céran. At table? But M. Toulonnier hasn’t arrived yet, Duchess.

Duchess. That makes no difference to me. We dine sharp at six, whether he is here or not.

Mme. de Céran. Dine without him, a General Secretary?

Duchess. Oh, under the Republic!

(Enter Suzanne, with her notebooks under her arm; she puts them on the table, right.)

Mme. de Céran. I am going to meet him. (To Bellac) My dear Professor, you will be shown to your room. (She rings and, a moment later, enter Francois)

Bellac. Pray don’t trouble, Countess, I have the good fortune to know the way. (Aside to Lucy) Did you get my letter?

Lucy. Yes, but——

(Bellac makes a sign for her to be silent, bows and goes out, right.)

Mme. de Loudan. And now, ladies, let us adjourn and make ourselves beautiful!

Mme. Arriégo. Come!

Mme. de Céran. Come with me, Lucy.

Lucy. With pleasure, Madame!

Mme. de Loudan. In that gown? Are you not afraid of the seductive charm of this spring evening, my dear?

Lucy. Oh, I shan’t be cold!

Mme. de Loudan. You are a true daughter of the Land of Fogs! I am very much afraid of the night air!

(Madame de Loudan goes out with Madame Arriégo, left. As Lucy starts to follow Madame de Céran into the garden, she is intercepted by Francois.)

Francois. I still can’t find the pink paper, Mademoiselle.

Suzanne. (Picking up a pink paper which she has knocked off the table, while putting her notebooks on it. Aside) A pink paper! (She looks at the paper)

Lucy. Ah, yes, the letter we were looking for this morning!

Suzanne. (Aside, quickly hiding the letter behind her back) That you were looking for this morning!

Lucy. (As she is leaving the room) Never mind looking for it now. (She goes out into the garden; Francois follows her)

Suzanne. (Looking at Lucy as Roger enters) The letter this morning!

(Enter the Duchess.)

Duchess. How’s this? You’re not ready yet? Nor you? What are you doing here?

(Suzanne looks at Roger without answering.)

Roger. (To the Duchess) Ah, these are the notebooks! Give them to me, Suzanne. (He goes to her, she hands them to him, looking at him in silence) What’s the matter with her?

Duchess. Let me look at those notebooks!

(Roger goes to the Duchess, who is seated left. Suzanne, to the right of the table, tries without being seen to open the paper which she holds in her left hand.)

Roger. (Looking at Suzanne—astonished) That’s strange!

Duchess. (To Roger, drawing him toward her) Come here, closer—my eyes are bad——

Roger. (Lowering the notebooks, as he steals a glance at Suzanne. Suddenly he seizes the Duchess by the arm, and whispers) Aunt!

Duchess. (To Roger, aside) What’s the matter now?

Roger. Look! But don’t turn your head! She’s trying to read something! A letter, you see! She’s trying to hide it, don’t you see?

Duchess. Yes!

Suzanne. (Who has opened the letter; reading) “I shall arrive Thursday.” (Astonished) From Roger! The one Lucy got this morning! (She looks at the letter) But why is it written that way, without any signature? (Continues reading) “This evening at ten; in the conservatory. Say you have a headache.” Ah!

Duchess. What can it be? (Calling) Suzanne!

Suzanne. (Surprised; puts the letter behind her back, and goes toward the Duchess) Yes, Aunt?

Duchess. What are you reading there?

Suzanne. I, Aunt? Nothing.

Duchess. I thought that—come here!

Suzanne. (Slipping the letter under the books on the table, as she goes toward the Duchess) Yes, Aunt?

Duchess. (Aside) This is curious!

Suzanne. (Near the Duchess) What is it, Aunt?

Duchess. Get my mantle for me.

Suzanne. (Hesitating) But——

Duchess. You don’t care to?

Suzanne. Oh, certainly, Aunt!

Duchess. It’s in my room; hurry! (Suzanne goes out. To Roger) Quick! On the table!

Roger. What?

Duchess. The letter! She’s hidden it! I saw her!

Roger. Hidden it? (He goes to the table and looks for the letter)

Duchess. On the corner, there! Under the black book. Don’t you see anything?

Roger. No—oh, yes!—a pink paper. (He takes the letter and brings it to the Duchess, reading it as he walks) Oh!

Duchess. What is it?

Roger. (Reading) “I shall arrive Thursday.” From Bellac!

Duchess. (Snatching the letter from him and reading it) From—? But it isn’t signed. And the handwriting——?

Roger. Yes, disguised. Oh, he’s a crafty one! But “I shall arrive Thursday” applies to me as well as to him!

Duchess. (Reading) “This evening at ten in the conservatory. Say you have a headache.” A rendezvous! (Giving him the letter) Quick, put it back, I hear her coming!

Roger. (Agitated) All right. (Puts letter back in place)

Duchess. Come now.

Roger. Very well.

Duchess. Hurry up! (Roger resumes his position by the side of the Duchess) And be calm! Here she is. (Suzanne re-enters. The Duchess turns over the leaves in the notebook) Well, these are very good, very good!

Suzanne. Here’s your mantle, Aunt.

Duchess. Thank you, dear. (Aside to Roger) Speak up.

(Suzanne goes to the table, takes the letter, glances through it, turning away as before.)

Roger. (Agitated) There are—well—er—certain—you have made wonderful progress—er—I am astonished—(Aside to Duchess, pointing to Suzanne) Aunt!

Duchess. (Aside) Yes, she’s picked it up again; I saw her. (The dinner-gong sounds) The second bell! Hurry and get dressed, Suzanne! You’ll never be ready in time.

Suzanne. (Aside as she looks at Roger) A rendezvous! With Lucy! Oh!

(She goes up to Roger without saying a word and, looking him straight in the eye, takes her notebooks out of his hand, tears them and throws the pieces angrily to the floor; then she goes out.)

Roger. (Astonished; turning to the Duchess) Aunt!

Duchess. A rendezvous!

Roger. With Bellac!

Duchess. Nonsense!

Roger. (Falling into a chair) Who could have imagined such a thing!

(Voices heard outside. The door at the back opens.)

Duchess. (Looking out) Ah, here comes Toulonnier! And everybody, and dinner, too! Quick, go and dress! It will calm your nerves; you’re very pale.

Roger. Suzanne! It’s not possible! (He goes out)

Duchess. No, it’s not possible! And yet——!

(Enter Madame de Céran, Toulonnier, M. and Mme. de Saint-Réault and a moment later, Lucy, Madame de Loudan, Madame Arriégo, with Bellac in their midst.)

Mme. de Céran. (Introducing Toulonnier to the Duchess) The Secretary General, Aunt.

Toulonnier. (Bowing) Madame la duchesse!

Duchess. My dear Monsieur Toulonnier, we were just going to sit down without you.

Toulonnier. I hope you will pardon me, my dear Duchess, but—business, you know! We are literally up to the ears in work. You’ll permit me to leave early, I trust?

Duchess. With pleasure!

Mme. de Céran. (Embarrassed) Ah, Monsieur Bellac!

Toulonnier. (To whom Mme. de Céran introduces Bellac) Monsieur! (He and Bellac shake hands and talk)

Mme. de Céran. (Coming to the Duchess) Be nice to him, Aunt; please.

Duchess. Your Republican friend? Nonsense! A man who gives us twenty minutes of his time as if he were a king! The idea!

Mme. de Céran. You will at least allow him to escort you to the table?

Duchess. I should think not! Keep him yourself! I’ll take little Raymond. He’s much more amusing.

(Enter Roger, dressed for dinner.)

Roger. (To the Duchess, frightened) Aunt!

Duchess. Well, what is it now?

Roger. Oh, something—I just overheard something in the corridor upstairs. It’s unbelievable.

Duchess. Well, what?

Roger. I didn’t see who was speaking, but I’m sure I heard——

(Raymond and Jeanne enter furtively.)

Duchess. Well, what?

Roger. The sound of a kiss! What do you think of that?

Duchess. Of a what?

Roger. Yes, I’m sure I heard it!

Duchess. Well, who——

Mme. de Céran. (Introducing to Toulonnier) Monsieur Paul Raymond, Sub-prefect of Agenis.

Raymond. Monsieur le Secrétaire-Géneral! (Introducing Jeanne) Madame Paul Raymond.

(Suzanne enters, wearing an evening gown.)

Mme. de Loudan. (Seeing Suzanne) Ohh!

Bellac. Ah, my young pupil!

(Murmurs of astonishment.)

Roger. (To the Duchess) Look, Aunt! Décolletée! It’s disgraceful!

Duchess. I don’t think so. (Aside) She’s been crying.

Francois. (Announcing) Dinner is served.

Roger. (Approaching Suzanne, who is conversing with Bellac) I must know! (Offering her his arm) Suzanne! (Suzanne looks at him coldly and takes the arm of Bellac, who is speaking with Lucy)

Bellac. (To Suzanne) How the rest will envy me, Mademoiselle!

Roger. (Aside) This is too much! (He offers his arm to Lucy)

Duchess. What does this mean?—Come, Raymond, give me your arm. (Raymond approaches her) My friend, one must suffer much before one becomes a Prefect!

Paul. The suffering is by no means unpleasant, Duchess.

Duchess. You’re going to sit next to me at the table. We’ll slander the Government!

Paul. Oh, Duchess! And I one of her servants! Oh, no!—But there is nothing to prevent my listening to you!

Curtain.