Tell me, Countess, are we, yes or no, Godler the ever youthful, Nourvady the ever grave, and I, Trévelé, the ever jesting – are we, yes or no, invited by you, Countess, the ever beautiful, and by your husband, the ever blissful (it would be difficult for him to be otherwise) – are we, yes or no, invited to dine at your table and to spend the evening with you afterwards?
Yes.
Then, lovely countess, permit me to observe that you are never where we are. Kindly give us information. When one sees you one loves you; but when one loves you where does one see you?
Here.
We supposed so, but it is now two hours since…
Oh! not two hours!
Three hours ago you forsook us in the middle of the conservatory. First, a domestic came to look for the count; we accepted that affliction: but, in your turn, you disappeared without even troubling any one to come and look for you. Well, we are all three charming – Godler, Nourvady, and I; it is difficult to find three more delightful and witty men, but we have such a habit of seeing each other that we do not enjoy ourselves at all when we are by ourselves. So if, after having us for seven hours, you discover you have had enough of us, tell us so without ceremony. We are going to drive back to the club, where we shall have a good game of baccarat; we will try, Godler and I, to win a hundred thousand francs from that millionaire Nourvady; – that will make him cheerful, perhaps.
Gentlemen, I offer you every excuse. It was on account of a most important and unforeseen affair. (She presents Richard.) Master Richard, solicitor, an old friend of mine. (She introduces the gentlemen.) Mr. de Trévelé, Mr. Godler, Mr. Nourvady. (The gentlemen bow.) And now, to strengthen you after all your fatigue and trouble, I am going to offer you a cup of tea, iced coffee, or chocolate.
(She approaches the table, upon which, during this discourse, the servants have put the articles mentioned.)
Mamma!
Gentlemen, here is my son, whom I beg to present to you. Bow, Raoul.
(Raoul bows already like a man of the world, putting his heels together and bending his head; Trévelé and Godler kiss him; Nourvady kisses his hand, after hesitating a moment; Raoul goes back to his mother, who kisses him, putting her arm round his neck.)
Take care, you will crumple my collar.
I beg your pardon, I wanted to kiss you. You don't love me, then?
Oh, yes, I love you very much.
Then you are going to help me pour out the tea?
No; I came to ask not to go to bed yet. I should prefer to play with Jane's little nephew, who has come with his mother to see her, but she will not let me without your permission.
Very well, I give you leave. Run away now, my child.
Good bye. (He goes away running.)
And you go away like that? (Raoul bows again, and wants to go away. Lionnette shows him Richard.) And Mr. Richard? And your father, too?
(At each name mentioned Raoul passes to the person, who kisses him. One can see he is in a great hurry to run away. When he gets to John, the latter takes him in his arms and kisses him very warmly.)
Don't be afraid, I am not going to crumple your collar. (He puts the child on the ground again, who tries afresh to escape.)
And me, Raoul.
(Raoul runs back again and kisses his mother.)
Go and play, my child, go; and amuse yourself well.
(Lionnette, a cup in each hand, presents one to Godler, the other to Trévelé.)
Dare I be so bold?
If you wish it.
And I?
And you, too. Only, take the cups, or you will burn my hands with the tea.
And you, Nourvady?
Thank you, I ask for nothing, not even a cup of tea.
(John chats with Richard in a corner.)
And the Countess will be right never to give you anything. People who ask nothing are often those who wish too much. Under cover of forty millions…
My money has nothing to do with this.
Certainly not; but all the same, when one has forty millions one finds a great many things easier than when one has, like me, only one. Ah, well, I must say, to the credit of Nourvady, it is in vain that he has two millions income at least – because he is a man who makes the best of his capital. He is, after all, the most sentimental of us three, and who takes love most seriously. He is a millionaire Anthony, and in our time it is remarkable.
And useful.
(Richard and John, who have chatted in a corner of the drawing-room, make their way to the terrace, where they chat in sight of the public.)
I do not know why Trévelé always assails me on the score of my fortune, of which I talk as little as possible. I am rich, but it is through no fault of mine. If that had depended on me alone, it certainly would never have happened. I am not clever enough to make forty millions. Fortunately, I had a father who was very intelligent, and, at the same time, very honourable. This father had a large bank at Vienna, which was very prosperous. He died, leaving me forty millions. It was, therefore, necessary to resign myself to accept them.
Easy resignation, I think, and that I should have had like you.
Ah! Madam, a fortune is a burden like anything else, at least for a man, for women have more grace and intelligence in spending money than we. But with much simplicity, a few efforts of the intellect, a little ingenuity in the way of rendering services – there is sometimes a way to get out of the difficulty – for a man.
And you get out of it remarkably well, my dear fellow! If we tease you about your millions, it is because it is the only subject we can joke you upon.
Rest assured, my dear Trévelé, that I am never offended at your jokes.
It is very fortunate for you, for if Nourvady were at all susceptible you would have a nice time.
Why?
Because he kills a bird at every shot.
But I am not a bird.
And he hits the mark eleven times out of twelve, and barely escapes the twelfth.
Fortunately I have an easy temper, which I have acquired by self-control, for I was naturally violent and irritable.
That poor Marnepont discovered something of that.
Don't let us speak of that.
Oh, yes, please let us speak of it. I knew Mr. de Marnepont very well, and I have heard in fact that he was killed. By you, then?
Alas! yes, madam.
In a duel?
Certainly. I did not assassinate him.
He was very annoying.
That was not the only reason of his death. He had other defects. He was insolent, and, above all, a liar.
What insolence was he guilty of? What lie did he tell? I will wager there was a woman in the case.
(Richard is gone. John hears all that is said, leaning upon the back of the couch where his wife is sitting.)
No, madam, it concerned me pitifully. Mr. de Marnepont calumniated me. He said I was hump-backed, which is not true. I have only the left shoulder a little higher than the right.
That is not seen at all.
It is not seen any longer, especially since that duel. In any case, no one says any more about it. My father, it is true, had a round back – at the close of his life principally. He had worked hard, stooping over a desk. That makes one round-shouldered in the end. Poor father! he said to me: "You have one shoulder higher than the other, the left; you get that from me; I ask your pardon for it, and I will endeavour to leave you what will make you forget it. But there are some people who will mock much more willingly at you as you will be very rich. Be strong in all sword-play, then; that will equalize everything." I followed the advice of my father, and I am astonished at the result. Then, as Mr. de Marnepont was a very good shot, I chose the pistol as our weapon. I was affronted, so wished to show him what good play was. We were allowed to fire at will; he fired first, and lodged a ball in my right shoulder, which naturally made me make this movement (he raises his right shoulder a little), for it was very painful, and I suffer from it often still. There are some days when my right arm is as if paralyzed. Whoever would get the better of me if I affronted him, has only to choose the sword; I should probably be killed at the second thrust.
And Marnepont?
Ah, well! In making the movement occasioned by the pain, this shoulder was for the moment higher than that. (He raises the right arm a little.) "Ah, said my opponent, laughing, I made a mistake, it is the right which is highest." It was not bad – for him, but it was bad taste. Then I fired. It was the first time that poor fellow showed any wit; he wasn't used to it; it killed him.
He wants to rise in the estimation of our hostess; he is a clever fellow.
He is peculiar, that man.
Do you find him odd?
Yes, he is so unlike any one else.
Indeed?
What is the matter with you? What are you thinking about?
I am thinking that that odd man is very happy.
In having the left shoulder higher than the right, and a ball in the latter?
In having what I have not, in having forty millions.
Ah, yes, that would help us out of our difficulties.
My poor Lionnette, I am very unhappy.
Why?
Because I am not able to give you any longer what I formerly gave you.
I shall do very well without it.
You are incapable of it; you said it yourself just now.
There are moments when I no longer know what I say; you must not pay attention to it. Chance has done much for me in my life; it may still find a way.
And if chance gets tired, and if you also get as tired? I shall never say – "if you love me no more;" in your heart you have never loved me.
Why did I marry you, then?
Because your mother advised you to do it.
It is perhaps the only good advice she ever gave me, and I assure you I have been very grateful for what you have done for me.
Gratitude is not love.
Love comes afterwards.
A long time afterwards, for it has not come yet.
The most beautiful creature in the world could not give more than she has. I have given all I had to give. Is it love? Is it not love? I know not. I have no line of comparison, never having given to any one but you.
(She hesitates a moment before continuing.)
You were going to say something else.
No.
Yes. Say it, whatever it was.
(He draws Lionnette by the hand, close to him.)
There are the plots beginning again. An odd kind of a house this.
(The three persons go out on the terrace, and from there into the garden, where one sees no more of them.)
I was going to say that perhaps you find that I do not love you enough, because you love me too much. Then you have been much too good to me; you have done whatever I wished; you did wrong. You should have been more my master, in order to counterbalance the bad influence of my mother, to change my habits, to offer more resistance, and to save me from myself.
To save you? What have you done then?
I have ruined you.
That is all.
It is quite enough.
You have never thought of…
Of what?
Of another?
You are mad. You have always been a little inclined that way. It is true that if you had not been silly you would never have married me.
Whether I am mad or not, answer my question.
No, you can be assured on that point. I have never thought of any one else.
And if I were to die; if I killed myself; if you, in the end, became a widow, and that man who is there – that strange man, that millionaire – made you an offer, would you marry him?
We have not arrived at that yet.
Who can tell? In the meantime that man loves you, and wishes to go so far as to make you love him without waiting for my death. You have remarked it as well as I.
Where is the woman who does not discover such things? Ask those who have never, by anyone, been told or allowed to see that they were loved, what they think of life. Our dream is to hear such declarations; our art is to listen to them; and our genius and power not to believe in them.
Has he declared himself?
Never.
Your word for it.
My word of honour.
It will come to that.
He will not be the last, I hope. What do you want to make of it?
He will declare himself, perhaps, at the moment when nothing remains for you but misery or suicide: both are equally hard for a young and beautiful woman.
You are confounding me with some other woman whom you loved before me. Do I expose myself to these suppositions by my ways of living? Ah! no, no. I have many defects but no vices, I believe; and, in spite of my anxiety for the future, I have never yet dreamed of these ways of escape. I trust never to think for a moment of them.
How much I love you! You have in you all that is most strange and noble in this world. You have a power over me almost superhuman. I think of no one but you; I want nothing but you; I dream only of you. If I suspect, it is because I love you. When you are not here, I do not exist: when I find you again, I tremble like a child. I implore you never to trifle with that love, – so deep, and, yet, so troubled. I do not ask you to love me beyond your power of loving; but love none other more than me. You know not – I do not know myself – what the result might be. When I think of the future, I grow giddy. (In a low, eager voice) I adore you! I adore you!
(During the last words Nourvady has come on to the stage again. He has looked at John and Lionnette. He takes his hat; Godler and Trévelé follow him.)
Do not speak so low; you could be heard.
Kiss me, then.
You wish me to kiss you. Here?
Here.
Before everybody?
Before him.
The same subject. Take care! You are doing him a great honour.
It is an idea that I have.
You would like it?
Yes.
You know well you must not dare me to anything.
I implore you.
Once, twice, three times (kissing him on both cheeks). So much the worse for you. There!
Ah! my friends, ah! You have decidedly a manner of your own of receiving.
Some one wants to see the Count.
Too late, my man, too late! He ought to have come a minute earlier.
I beg your pardon, Sir?
Go, go! It would be too long to explain.
Who wants to see me?
It is a clerk of Mr. Richard.
Very well, I will go to him. (To Godler and to Trévelé) I am coming back immediately.
Don't study us.
(Godler and Trévelé accompany John to the room at the end, where they remain some moments talking in sight of the public; and, when John is gone away, they remain there, walking up and down, during the scene between Lionnette and Nourvady.)
Adieu, Countess.
Are you going to leave us?
Yes, your house is in a visible agitation. There is less indiscretion in perceiving it than in remaining.
When shall we see you again?
Never!
You are going away?
No; but I shall come here no more.
You did not enjoy your dinner?
Do me the honour of listening to me to the end.
That's well! With the other now.
I love you (Lionnette makes a movement). You know it; and you ought to have foreseen that I should one day tell you so.
Yes; it is only five minutes ago that my husband and I were speaking about it.
Do not laugh. You may tell by the tone of my voice that I am very serious. I love you passionately. You do not love me; you do not even think of me. It is probable that you will never love me. I possess nothing of all the essentials to tempt a woman like yourself – except a fortune.
Sir!
Have patience! I am not capable of failing in respect towards you, as I love you. You are ruined – irreparably ruined. You can accept, it is true, the proposals that Madame Spadetta has had made to you, and free yourself in that manner. There would be no longer debt, but there would be straitened circumstances, and, perhaps, misery. Without counting that, it would be a great grief for you to give up, for ever, certain letters; a grief that whoever loves you ought to spare you.
How do you know that?
With money one knows all one wants to know, especially when Madame Spadetta is able to furnish all the information one requires. Do you remember, Countess, that one day, some months ago, passing through the Champs Elysées with your husband and me, you remarked at No. 20 a private house that was nearly finished.
Yes.
You admired then the exterior elegance of that house. That was sufficient to induce me to resolve that no man should inhabit it; – another time you might have looked mechanically in passing on that side, and the proprietor at his window might have imagined that it was at him the lovely Countess of Hun was looking. I have bought that house, and I have had it furnished as elegantly as possible. If, in a year, in two years, in ten years, if – to-morrow – circumstances force you to sell this house where we are at this moment, think of that house in the Champs Elysées that no one has ever yet inhabited. The carriages are waiting in the coach-houses, the horses in the stables, the footmen in the ante-rooms. The little door that this key opens is only for you. (He shows a little key.) That door you will easily recognize: your monogram is on it. From the moment you cross it, if you cross the threshold one day, you will not even have the trouble of opening another with it; all the doors will be open in the way that leads to your apartment. In the drawing-room is an Arabian coffer of marvellous workmanship; this coffer contains a million in gold, struck on purpose for you: it is virgin gold, such as gold ought to be that your little hands deign to touch. You can make use of all in this coffer; when it is empty it will fill itself again – it is a secret. The deeds which confer upon you the ownership of this house are deposited in one of the cabinets in the drawing-room. You will have only to sign them whenever you may like legally to be the owner. Is it necessary to add that you owe nothing to anyone for all that, and that you will remain absolute mistress of your actions? To-morrow I shall pass the day in that house, to assure myself that all there is in a fit state to receive you; and I shall never appear there again until you tell me yourself to come – or to remain there.