Thank you so much! I might just as well go!
MADAME BAIL. That would be madness. You wouldn"t be so foolish as to do it.
MARTHE. Yes--I know--society would blame me!
MADAME BAIL. That"s the first point. We should submit to everything rather than do as some others do and fly in the face of convention. We belong to society.
MARTHE. In that case I should at least have peace.
MADAME BAIL. Peace! Nothing of the sort, my dear. You know very well, you would have regrets.
MARTHE [_ironically_]. What regrets?
MADAME BAIL. G.o.d knows! Perhaps, though you don"t know it, you still love him, in some hidden corner of your heart. You may pity him. You can go a long way with that feeling. Perhaps you have same vague hope--[_Marthe is about to speak._] Well, we won"t say any more about that. And then you are religious, you have a big forgiving soul. Aren"t these sufficient reasons for waiting? You may regret it. Believe me, my dear child. [_Marthe stands silent, and Madame Bail changes her att.i.tude and tone of voice._] Now, you must admit, you haven"t so much to complain of. Your husband is far from the worst; indeed, he"s one of the best. What would you do if you were in Madame Ponceau"s position? Her husband spends all their money and stays away for two and three months at a time. He goes away, is not seen anywhere, and when he returns, he has the most terrible scenes with poor Marie, and even beats her! Now, Alfred is very good to you, pays you all sorts of attentions, he comes home three evenings a week, gives you all sorts of presents. And these laces! He never bothers you or abuses you. See how nice he was just a few minutes ago, simple and natural! He was lovely, and said the pleasantest imaginable things.
MARTHE [_bitterly_]. He flattered you!
MADAME BAIL. That isn"t the reason!
MARTHE. That you say nice things about him? Nonsense! He pleases and amuses you. You don"t want me to apply for a separation because you want him near you, and because you are afraid of what people will say. Be frank and admit it.
MADAME BAIL. Marthe, that"s not at all nice of you.
MARTHE. It"s the truth.
MADAME BAIL. No, no, nothing of the sort.
MARTHE. Another thing that grates on me in this life we are leading is to see the way my mother takes her son-in-law"s part against me. You find excuses for him on every occasion; 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 reentering, 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 [_embarra.s.sed_]. 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 embarra.s.sed!
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 Coge._]
You?
MADAME COGe. What do you think of my trick?
LAMBLIN. Detestable as well as dangerous.
MADAME COGe. 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 princ.i.p.al 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 COGe. I decided this morning. You were so nice yesterday!
LAMBLIN. You must go at once! What if some one found you here?
MADAME COGe. 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 COGe. 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 COGe [_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 COGe. 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!