(Jeanne appears; closes the door.)

Duchess. The Sub-prefect’s wife!

Jeanne. (Astonished at seeing them) Oh!

Duchess. Come in, don’t be afraid. It would seem that you have had enough?

Jeanne. Oh, no, Duchess, but you see, I——

Duchess. You don’t care for tragedy?

Jeanne. Oh, yes, I do!

Duchess. Oh, you needn’t say so to be polite; there are seventeen others who feel as you do! (Aside) What can she be up to?—It wasn’t interesting, was it?

Jeanne. Quite the contrary!

Duchess. “Quite the contrary,” as you say to the person who asks you whether it hurt when he stepped on your foot?

Jeanne. Oh, not at all! There were some very interesting things—there was one beautiful line.

Duchess. A whole line?

Jeanne. And the applause was great. (Aside) What shall I do?

Duchess. Ha! Ha! What was the beautiful line?

Jeanne. “Honor is like a god, a god which—” I’m afraid I misquote it, and spoil the effect.

Duchess. Keep it, my child, keep it! And now you’re running away like this in spite of the beautiful line?

Jeanne. I very much regret having to leave. (Aside) What shall I say? (Brightening) Oh!—it was either that I was so uncomfortable where I was sitting, or because it was so warm—I don’t feel very well!

Duchess. Ah!

Jeanne. My eyes are—I can’t see straight—I have a headache——

Mme. de Céran, Duchess, Roger. (Rising) A headache?!

Jeanne. (Alarmed—aside) What’s the matter with them?

Duchess. (After a short pause) That’s not surprising: there is an epidemic of headaches.

Jeanne. You have one too?

Duchess. I? No! One doesn’t have them at my age! You must do something for it, my child.

Jeanne. I’m going to take a little walk. You’ll excuse me, won’t you?

Duchess. Of course; by all means!

Jeanne. (Holding her head between her hands, and going toward the door) Oh, how it aches! Ah! (Aside) Paul will find an excuse to get away! (She goes out through the door leading to the garden)

Duchess. (To Roger) Do you think so? Do you think so?

Roger. Oh, Aunt, it’s only a coincidence!

Duchess. Possibly; you know how easily one may be mistaken, and one must never—(The door of the drawing-room opens) Ahh, this time!

Voice of the Poet. (Heard through the partially opened door as before)

Duchess. Euripides is still at it!

Voice of the Poet.

(Lucy appears.)

Mme. de Céran and Roger. Lucy!

(Lucy goes to the door leading into the garden.)

Duchess. What, Lucy! Why did you leave the reading?

Lucy. (Stopping) I beg your pardon; I didn’t see you!

Duchess. And yet they say there was a beautiful line:

“Honor is like a god——”

Lucy. (Starting to go) “Like a god which——”

Duchess. Yes, that’s the one. (The clock strikes ten. Lucy is now at the door) And in spite of that, you are determined to go?

Lucy. Yes, I want a breath of fresh air: I have a headache. (She goes out)

Duchess, Roger, and Mme. de Cèran. (Sitting down) Oh!

Duchess. Well, well! This is getting interesting!

Mme. de Céran. Another coincidence!

Duchess. Another? No, not this time! Don’t you think so? Then all of them are—! Except Suzanne’s case! Come, now, there’s something in the air. She will not come! I’m willing to wager she won’t come. (The drawing-room door opens suddenly, and through it is heard a voice in the throes of tragic agony) There she is!

(Enter Suzanne hastily, as though looking for someone.)

Mme. de Céran. (Rising) You are leaving the reading, Mademoiselle!

Suzanne. (Impatiently) Yes, cousin!

Mme. de Céran. Stay here!

Suzanne. But, cousin——

Mme. de Céran. Stay! Sit down!

Suzanne. (Dropping on to a piano-stool, and abruptly turning to each person who addresses her) Well?

Mme. de Céran. And why, may I ask, did you leave the reading?

Suzanne. Why should I let myself be bored by that old gentleman?

Roger. Is that the true reason?

Suzanne. I went out because Lucy went out, if you must know!

Mme. de Céran. Miss Watson, Mademoiselle?

Suzanne. Yes, indeed: Miss Watson, the pink of perfection, the rara avis—she may do as she likes, but I——!

Roger. You, Suzanne?

Mme. de Céran. Let me speak to her! But you Mademoiselle, run about the streets alone!

Suzanne. The way Lucy does!

Mme. de Céran. And you dress most outrageously.

Suzanne. The way Lucy does!

Mme. de Céran. You monopolise M. Bellac and talk to him affectedly——

Suzanne. The way Lucy does! I suppose she doesn’t speak to him, does she? And to Monsieur, too! (Indicating Roger)

Mme. de Céran. Oh, but in private! You understand me perfectly.

Suzanne. Let’s not talk about “in private!” When anyone has a secret, he writes it—(Aside to Roger between her teeth) in a disguised hand!

Mme. de Céran. What?

Roger. (Aside) Aunt!

Duchess. (Aside) Shh!

Mme. de Céran. Well?

Suzanne. Well, Lucy speaks to whomever she likes; Lucy goes out whenever she wants to; Lucy dresses just as she likes. I want to do just like Lucy, because every one loves her!

Mme. de Céran. And do you know why everyone loves her, Mademoiselle? Because, in spite of her plainness—a necessary consequence of her nationality—she is serious, dignified and cultured—

Suzanne. (Rising) And what about me? Haven’t I been all that? For the last six months up to this very evening at five o’clock, I worked hard without resting, and I studied as much as she did; and I learned as much as she did: “objective” and “subjective” and all that! And what good did it all do me? Does anyone love me better for it? Doesn’t everyone always treat me just as if I were a little girl? Everyone!! Everyone!! (Looking sidewise at Roger) Who pays any attention to me? Suzanne, Suzanne!! What does Suzanne count for! And all because I’m not an old English woman!

Roger. Suzanne!

Suzanne. Yes, defend her! Oh, I know what to do in order to please you! Here! (Taking the Duchess’s lorgnette and putting it up to her eyes and looking through it) How esthetic! Schopenhauer! The Ego, the non-Ego! Et Cetera, nyah! nyah!

Mme. de Céran. We can dispense with your impertinence, Mademoiselle!

Suzanne. (Bowing ceremoniously) Thank you, cousin!

Mme. de Céran. Yes, impertinence! and your absurd pranks——

Suzanne. Well, what can you expect from a “street gamin” like me! No wonder I don’t behave any better! (A little excited) Of course I misbehave! I do it on purpose and I’ll continue to do it!

Mme. de Céran. Not under my roof!

Suzanne. I did go out with Monsieur Bellac, and I spoke with Monsieur Bellac, and I have a secret with Monsieur Bellac!

Roger. You dare——!

Suzanne. And he knows more than you do! And he’s more of a man than you are! And I like him better than you! I love him! I love him! I love him!

Mme. de Céran. I sincerely hope that you do not realize the gravity of what you are saying!

Suzanne. I do realize it!

Mme. de Céran. Then listen to me! Before you commit any more of the follies you are threatening us with, think the matter over! You, least of all, Mademoiselle de Villiers, can afford to have a scandal connected with your name!

Duchess. Take care, take care!

Mme. de Céran. Well, Duchess, she ought to know, at least——

Suzanne. (Holding back her tears) I do know!

Duchess. You know? What?

Suzanne. (Throwing herself into the Duchess’s arms and crying) Aunt! Aunt!

Duchess. There, there, Suzanne, my child! (To Mme. de Céran) That was considerate of you—to start that here! (To Suzanne) There, there, what is it you know? (She takes Suzanne on her knees)

Suzanne. (Weeping and talking at the same time) W-what? I—I don’t know! But I do know there is something against me—and there has been for a long time!

Duchess. Why, what makes you think——?

Suzanne. Nobody, everybody. People look at you and whisper and stop talking when you come into the room and kiss you, and call you poor little thing!—If you think children don’t notice those things!

Duchess. (Wiping her eyes) Now, dear, dear!

Suzanne. And it was just the same at the convent! I knew I wasn’t like the other girls. Oh, I could see that. They always talked to me about my father and my mother, and why? Because I didn’t have any! And once, during recess, I was playing with a girl!—I don’t remember what I’d done to her—She was furious—and all of a sudden she called me “Miss Foundling!” She didn’t know what it meant, neither did I! Her mother had used the word in speaking about me. She told me afterward, after we had made up.—Oh, I was so unhappy! (Sobbing) We looked the word up in the dictionary, but we didn’t find anything—or we didn’t understand—(Angrily) What did they mean? What have I done that makes me any different from anybody else? That everything I do is bad? Is it my fault?

Duchess. (Kissing her) No, my child, no my dear!

Mme. de Céran. I am sorry——

Suzanne. (Sobbing) Well, then, why does everybody blame me if it isn’t my fault? Here I seem to be in the way! I know I don’t want to stay any longer. I am going! Nobody loves me!

Roger. (Deeply moved) Why do you say that, Suzanne? It’s not so. Everybody here—I——

Suzanne. (Angrily as she rises) You!

Roger. Yes, I? And I swear——

Suzanne. You!—Go away from me! I hate you and I never want to see you again! Never! Do you hear! (She goes toward the door leading into the garden)

Roger. Suzanne! Suzanne! Where are you going?

Suzanne. I’m going for a walk! For that matter, I am going where I please!

Roger. But why now? Why are you going out?

Suzanne. Why? (She comes down to him) Why?? (Looking him in the eye) Why? I have a headache! (All rise. Suzanne goes out)

Roger. (Agitated) Well, Aunt, it’s clear now, isn’t it?

Duchess. Less and less!

Roger. I shall see him at once!

Mme. de Céran. What are you going to do?

Roger. Merely to do as my aunt has suggested: get to the bottom of the affair. And I swear if that man—that if it’s true—if he has dared—!

Mme. de Céran. If he has I shall show him to the door!

Duchess. If he has, I’ll see that he marries her! (Following Suzanne) Only, if it isn’t true—well, we’ll see! Come! (She tries to make Mme. de Céran go out. Loud applause is heard from the adjoining room; indistinct murmurs of conversation and moving of chairs)

Mme. de Céran. Well!

Duchess. What’s that I hear? Another beautiful line? No, it’s the end of the act. Quick, before they come in!!

Mme. de Céran. But my guests?

Duchess. They’ll go to sleep again without your help! Come, come!

(They go out. The door at the back opens. Through it are seen guests in groups, with Des Millets in the centre of one.)

Ladies. Beautiful!—Great Art!—Very noble!

Paul. (On the threshold of the door) That act is charming! Don’t you think so, General?

General. (Yawning cavernously) Charming! Four to come!

(Paul skilfully maneuvers so that he reaches the door leading to the garden and disappears through it.)

Curtain.