LITMIR.BIZ

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would have a home.

      Thérèse. Yes, yes, I know all that; and it would be a great happiness. But what should I do?

      Guéret. You would do what all well brought up young girls in your position do.

      Thérèse. You mean I should do nothing.

      Guéret. Nothing! No, not nothing.

      Thérèse. Pay visits, practise a bit; some crochet and a little photography? That's to say, nothing.

      Guéret. You were brought up to that.

      Thérèse. I should never have dared to put it into words. But afterwards?

      Guéret. Afterwards?

      Thérèse. How long would that last?

      Guéret. Until you marry.

      Thérèse. I shall never marry.

      Guéret. Why not?

      Thérèse [very gently] Oh, godfather, you know why not. I have no money. [A silence] So I'm going to try and get work.

      Féliat. Work! Now, Thérèse, you know what women are like who try to earn their own living. You think you can support yourself. How?

      Thérèse. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I think I can support myself by my pen.

      Féliat. Be a bluestocking?

      Thérèse. Yes.

      Madame Guéret. That means a Bohemian life, with everything upside down, and a cigarette always between your lips.

      Thérèse [laughing] Neither Bohemia, nor the upside down, nor the cigarette are indispensable, godmother. Your information is neither firsthand nor up-to-date.

      Féliat. In a month's time you'll want to give it up.

      Thérèse. Under those circumstances there's no harm in letting me make the experiment.

      Guéret. Now, my dear child, don't you know that even with your cleverness you may have to wait years before you make a penny. I've been an editor. I know what I'm talking about.

      Madame Guéret. She's made up her mind, there's no use saying any more.

      Féliat. But I want to talk to her now. Will you be so good as to listen to me, Mademoiselle Thérèse? [To Madame Guéret] I wonder if I might be allowed to have a few minutes with her alone.

      Madame Guéret. Most willingly.

      Guéret [to his wife] Come, Marguerite.

      Madame Guéret. It's no use making up your mind to the worst in these days; life always keeps a surprise for you. Let's go. [She goes out with her husband]

      Féliat. My child, I have undertaken to say something to you that I fear will hurt you, and it's very difficult. You know that I'm only René's uncle by marriage. So it's not on my own account that I speak. I speak for his parents.

      Thérèse. Don't say another word, Monsieur Féliat. I perfectly understand. I'm going to release him from his engagement. I shall write to him this very night.

      Féliat. My sister-in-law and her husband are most unhappy about all this.

      Thérèse. I'm grateful to you all.

      Féliat. Their affection for you is not in any way diminished.

      Thérèse. I know.

      Féliat. And—

      Thérèse [imploringly] Please, please, Monsieur Féliat, don't say any more; what's the good of it?

      Féliat. I beg your pardon, my dear. I am a little upset. I was expecting—er, er—

      Thérèse. Expecting what?

      Féliat. I expected some resistance on your part, perhaps indignation. It must be very hard for you; you were very fond of René.

      Thérèse. What's the good of talking about that? Of course he can't marry me now that I've not got a penny.

      Féliat. You know—as a matter of fact—I—my old-fashioned ideas—well, you go on surprising me. But this time my surprise is accompanied by—shall I say respect?—and by sympathy. I expected tears, which would have been very natural, because I know that your affection for René was very great.

      Thérèse. I can keep my tears to myself.

      Féliat. Yes——Oh, I——at least——

      Thérèse. Let's consider it settled. Please don't talk to me about it any more.

      Féliat. Very well. Now will you allow me to say one word to you about your future?

      Thérèse. I shan't change my mind.

      Féliat. Perhaps not; all the same I want to advise you like—well, like an old uncle. For several years you have been spending your holidays with me at La Tremblaye. And I have a real affection for you. So you'll listen to me?

      Thérèse. With all my heart.

      Féliat. You're making a mistake. Your ideas do you credit, but believe me, you're laying up trouble for yourself in the future. [She makes a movement to interrupt him] Wait. I don't want to argue. I want you to listen to me, and I want to persuade you to follow my advice. Come to Evreux and you may be perfectly certain that you won't be left an old maid all your life. Even without money you'll find a husband there. You're too pretty, too charming, too well educated not to turn the head of some worthy gentleman. You made a sensation at the reception at the Préfecture. If you don't know that already, I tell you so.

      Thérèse. I'm extremely flattered.

      Féliat. Do you know that if—well, if you decide to marry—I might—

      Thérèse. But I've not decided to marry.

      Féliat. All right, all right, I am speaking about later on. Well, you've seen Monsieur Baudoin and Monsieur Gambard—

      Thérèse. I haven't the slightest intention of—

      Féliat [interrupting] There's no question of anything immediate. But for a person as wise and sensible as you are, the position of both the one and the other deserves—

      Thérèse. I know them both.

      Féliat. Yes; but—

      Thérèse. Now look here. If I had two hundred thousand francs, would you suggest that I should marry either of them?

      Féliat. Certainly not.

      Thérèse. There, you see.

      Féliat. But you've not got two hundred thousand francs.

      Thérèse [without showing any anger or annoyance] The last thing I want is to be exacting. But really, Monsieur Féliat, think for a minute. If I were to marry a man I could not possibly love, I should marry him for his money. [Looking straight at him] And in that case the only difference between me and the women I am not supposed to know anything about would be that a little ceremony had been performed over me and not over them. Don't you agree with me?

      Féliat. But, my dear, you say such extraordinary things.

      Thérèse. Well, do you consider that less dishonoring than working? Honestly now, do you? I think that the best thing about women earning their living is that it'll save them from being put into exactly that position.

      Féliat. The right thing for woman is marriage. That's her proper position.

      Thérèse. It's sometimes an unhappy one. [A maid comes in bringing a card to Thérèse, who says] Ask the lady kindly to wait a moment.

      Maid. Yes, Mademoiselle. [The maid goes out]

      Féliat. Well, I'm off. I shall go and see René. Then you'll write to him?

      Thérèse. This very evening.

      Féliat.

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