LITMIR.BIZ

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and your one fear seems to be that he should hear some random word that will wound him; and the proof is that he never interrupts one of our conversations—which are always on the same subject—but that you don't fail to make desperate signs to me to keep still!

      Madame Bail. What an idea! [Marthe is about to reply, when Madame Bail perceives Lamblin reëntering, and signs to Martha to say nothing more.] It's he! [Marthe shrugs her shoulders.]

      [Enter Lamblin.]

      Lamblin [joyfully]. There, that's done. One hundred and two signatures. Kiss me, little one. In less than an hour I've earned a thousand francs for us. Isn't that splendid?

      [Enter a servant.]

      Servant. Monsieur?

      Lamblin. What is it?

      Servant [embarrassed]. Some one—from the office—who wishes to speak with Monsieur.

      Lamblin. From the office? At this time?

      Servant. Yes, Monsieur.

      Lamblin. Say that I am with my family, and that I am not receiving any one.

      Servant. That is what I said, but the—person—insists.

      Lamblin. How annoying!

      Madame Bail. See him, dear, Marthe and I will go out and you may see him here. No one will disturb you.

      Marthe. Yes, it's best to see him! [They make ready to go out; pick up their work, and so on.]

      Lamblin [to the servant]. Tell him to come in. [The servant goes out.]

      Marthe [to Madame Bail, as she points after the servant]. Did you notice? Adolphe was very embarrassed!

      Madame Bail. Now what are you going to worry about?

      Marthe. I tell you, I saw it! [The women go out.]

      Lamblin. This is too much! Not a moment of peace!

      [Enter Madame Cogé.]

      You?

      Madame Cogé. What do you think of my trick?

      Lamblin. Detestable as well as dangerous.

      Madame Cogé. Come, come. I wanted to go to the Bouffes, and I wanted you to go with me. It's nine o'clock, but we'll be in time for the principal play.

      Lamblin. No, no, no, impossible. And what do you mean by falling upon me this way without warning! My dear Mathilde, what were you thinking about?

      Madame Cogé. I decided this morning. You were so nice yesterday!

      Lamblin. You must go at once! What if some one found you here?

      Madame Cogé. Your wife? Quick, then, we must be going. Take your hat, say good-by. I'll wait for you downstairs. I have a cab. [A pause.]

      Lamblin. I tell you, it's out of the question. Go alone. I have a headache—I've smoked too much.

      Madame Cogé. You refuse? And I was looking forward so—!

      Lamblin. Now, listen to me, my dear: I have told you once for all, I'm not a rounder. I like everything well regulated. I have my own little habits, and I don't like something to come along and upset everything. I'm very much of a family man, I've often impressed that fact upon you, and I'm astonished, perfectly astonished, that you don't take that into account.

      Madame Cogé [in a high voice]. You make me tired. So there.

      Lamblin. Don't scream so! I tell you, I wouldn't go out to-night for anything under the sun. Yesterday, Heaven knows, I was only too happy to be with you: we enjoyed ourselves; it was most pleasant. As for this evening—no: to-morrow. We decided on Mondays, Wednesday, Fridays, and a Sunday from time to time. I have no wish to alter that schedule. I'm regulated like a cuckoo clock. You don't seem to believe that. I strike when I'm intended to strike.

      Madame Cogé. That is as much as to say that you like me three days a week, and the rest of the time I mean as little to you as the Grand Turk! That's a queer kind of love!

      Lamblin. Not at all. I think of you very often, and if you were to disappear, I should miss you a great deal. Only it's a long way between that and disturbing my equilibrium.

      Madame Cogé. And I suppose you love your wife?

      Lamblin. Are you jealous?

      Madame Cogé. I am, and I have reason to be be....

      Lamblin. How childish of you! You know very well that you are the only woman, only—

      Madame Cogé. Ah, there is an "only"!

      Lamblin. Yes,—only, just because I love you is no reason why I should feel no affection for her, and that you should treat her as you do! She is so devoted!

      Madame Cogé. What is there so extraordinary about her?

      Lamblin [becoming excited]. She does for me what others would not do—you for instance! She has a steady affection for me; I keep it for my bad moments; her action doesn't turn in every wind. You should see her, so resigned, so anxious to do everything for my comfort and convenience! She's worried when I have a headache, she runs for my slippers when I come home in wet weather—from your house! [Deeply moved.] You see that cognac there? That was the second glass I poured out for myself this evening; the moment I started to drink it her little hand stretched forth and took it from me, because she said I would make myself ill! [He starts to weep.] You know, I poured it out just in order that she should prevent my drinking it. These things stir the heart! [A pause.] Now you must go.

      Madame Cogé. No, no. I love you, and I—

      Lamblin. You are selfish. And you know I can't stand selfish people. You want to deprive me of a quiet evening in the bosom of my family.

      Madame Cogé. I want you to love me, and me alone. I want you to leave your home if need be.

      Lamblin. Yes, and if I were to fall sick—which might happen, though I have a strong constitution, thank God!—I know you. You're the best woman in the world, but that doesn't prevent your being a little superficial!

      Madame Cogé. Superficial!

      Lamblin. Yes, you are, and you can't deny it! Your dropping in on me, like a bolt from the blue, proves it conclusively. And when you once begin chattering about yourself, about your dresses, oh, my! You never stop. You can't be serious, your conversation is not the sort that pleases a man, flatters and amuses him.

      Madame Cogé. Oh!

      Lamblin. You never talk about him! One night I remember, I was a little sick and you sent me home. There they made tea for me. The cook was already in bed, and Marthe didn't hesitate an instant to go to the kitchen and soil her hands!

      Madame Cogé. When was that? When was that?

      Lamblin. For God's sake, don't scream so! Not more than two weeks ago.

      Madame Cogé. You didn't say what was the matter with you, that's all.

      Lamblin. I complained enough, Heaven knows. [A pause.]

      Madame Cogé. Then you won't come?

      Lamblin. No.

      Madame Cogé [resolutely]. Very well, then, farewell.

      Lamblin. Now, you mustn't get angry. [He puts his arm round her waist]. You know I can't do without you. You are always my dear little Mathilde, my darling little girl. Aren't you? Do you remember yesterday, eh? You know I love you—deeply?

      Madame Cogé. On Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and from time to time on Sundays. Thanks! [She starts to go.]

      Lamblin. Mathilde!

      Madame Cogé. Good evening. [Returning to him.] Do you want me

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