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are you talking about over there?

      MELIDA

      Father, we were saying that you are supremely wise and that we will leave on the day and hour you choose.

      DOCTOR

      You are two brave children. You’ve understood, I haven’t much courage and you each bring me a little of your own. Here, what future would you have, dear daughters of my heart, if death were to suddenly strike me? Alas, our society is careless with regard to young and beautiful orphans.

      ÉMERAUDE

      You’ve given us skills that we should be able to utilize if you’d allowed us.

      DOCTOR

      You would be governesses. Governesses! That is to say—the first servants of the house. Sacrificial lambs to all the bad humors of an aristocratic family; slaves of pupils who are deemed to obey you. I’ve seen many of those poor young girls; with pale faces, humble voices, eyes red with tears—all were wretched because those who employed them only had the power of money over them—the most insolent of powers.

      (crossing the stage)

      MELIDA

      Father—human experience teaches us we are in this world to suffer.

      DOCTOR

      Yes, but the heart that loves you refuses to listen to that voice—or at least to believe it. Suffer, you may, poor children, that I’ve brooded over for twenty, twenty watchful years! My poor chicks that a mother doesn’t shelter. Well—no, I rebel against human experience; to that voice which shouts misfortune, I answer: You lie! You won’t suffer. As for me, I don’t wish you to suffer! We shall go down under. All the papers agree in saying that doctors are needed in Australia. I’ll make a fortune there. I have the credulity of people who desire and hope—when we are rich, we’ll bring Williams—that’s for you, Melida. As for you, Émeraude, we will find you a man of heart in need of a sweet, wise, loving wife who will give you joy—happiness—my beautiful gem.

      ÉMERAUDE

      Beautiful dreams—father.

      DOCTOR

      Which will become realities. Leave it to me—well, my good children, now that you are really reasonable, there’s no reason to keep a secret from you—especially this secret—as the hour has come that I can no longer hide it.

      (coming forward)

      We are leaving tonight.

      MELIDA

      My God!

      ÉMERAUDE

      Oh—so much the better—father.

      MELIDA

      Ah—Williams.

      DOCTOR

      Isn’t it better for you not to see him again? Don’t you think those last goodbyes will be more painful than comforters?

      MELIDA

      Yes, yes—perhaps you’re right, father. Is it permitted that I write him that I was unaware of your decision—and that it was only at the moment of leaving that I learned—

      DOCTOR

      Yes, write him—pour your heart in his, poor child! It’s an honest heart.

      (to Louisa)

      Well—what is it?

      (moving forward)

      LOUISA

      A gentleman coming on behalf of Mr. Robinson with a paper to be signed and a bag of money. I made him wait in your office.

      DOCTOR

      (to Louisa)

      Well—bring down the trunks and the boxes—Émeraude will help you—courage my child.

      MELIDA

      You see plainly that I have courage, father.

      (aside)

      Ah, if the test were to last much longer it would kill me.

      (the doctor goes into his office)

      ÉMERAUDE

      Courage, sister, God is watching us—Williams loves you—what are 5,000 leagues to a bird seeking spring—to a heart seeking love?

      (Exit Émeraude.)

      MELIDA

      (alone)

      Poor Williams! What’s he going to say when he comes this evening and finds the house empty?

      (sitting at a table and taking up a pen)

      Write then, trembling hand, and if tears cloud your eyes, it’s just one sorrow the more.

      (writing)

      “Dear Williams—fate subjects us sometimes to such cruel trials that one must squeeze up one’s courage in a great love like mine so as not to die; In, an hour, I’ll have left this house without seeing you again—the cradle of our love—the tomb of my hopes—my unhappiness is so great that I dare not look you in the face—if I knew I’d never see you again, I’d let myself die—but no—you will come rejoin me; very soon, right? God will take pity on those who never offended him. I love you. I love you.”

      (she rings—raising hear head and perceiving Patrick)

      You’re staying, right, Patrick?

      PATRICK

      Yes, Miss, in this house, yes—Dr. Ivans has entrusted the keys to me until Mr. Robinson shall come tomorrow to take away the furnishings and sell them.

      MELIDA

      (rising)

      Well—when Williams comes tonight, you will give him this letter. You will tell him—no—you will tell him nothing—

      (aside)

      He will be wretched enough without someone telling him I’ve suffered. Take this, my friend, take this.

      (giving him a half crown, she collapses on a sofa)

      PATRICK

      Thanks, Miss.

      DOCTOR

      (coming in behind Melida and resting a hand on her shoulder)

      Is it done?

      MELIDA

      Yes, Father.

      DOCTOR

      And your poor heart?

      MELIDA

      God and my love for you will give it strength.

      (Émeraude brings in a traveling cape and places in on Melida’s shoulders—she hardly notices.)

      DOCTOR

      Come—let’s hurry the trains leaving.

      (Melida falls to both knees.)

      ÉMERAUDE

      Let her say her prayer—it will bring us luck.

      MELIDA

      (praying)

      My God—you who made the world so grand and who are even grander than the world—give me strength—courage—resignation—make our hearts unite under the immensity of heaven which envelops the universe and reunites our souls—if they succumb to pain.

      (soft music accompanies Melida’s prayer. Rising.)

      Here I am, Father. Goodbye, Patrick—don’t forget.

      PATRICK

      Don’t worry, Miss.

      DOCTOR

      Lean on me, poor reed—

      (as they leave)

      Goodbye

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