style="font-size:15px;"> And that is?
Call your creditors together, and offer them so much per cent.
Never.
Never! If we have a sum larger than or equal to our debts, we must pay them fully; if we have only a smaller amount, we must give it to them on account, and look for means to procure the remainder; if we are not able to do it, then we have robbed all these confiding tradesmen, and there is but one thing left for my husband and me to do, that is, to shut ourselves up in a room hermetically sealed, set light to a pan of charcoal, and die together.
I adore you.
Yes, it is very fine, but like a drama or a romance, it is not reality.
On the contrary, it is the most simple thing in the world – for me, at least. Either life, with all it is able to bestow, or death, with all it can promise; I understand nothing else. Do you think that after living as I have done, at my age I am going to allow myself to live in a garret, to go to market, and to reckon accounts with the laundress and general servant? It is unnecessary to try, I could never do it. Hunting-hound, shepherd-dog, if you like; blind-beggar's dog, never!
And your son?
My son, I would not have him die with us, it is very evident. But my son is six years old; he could still be brought up otherwise than I was. One could instil in him habits of work, and ordinary tastes, that I never had. There are 10,000 francs income from his father and the heirship inalienable; it would be misery for us, but independence for him. Men have no want of money, they only want it for their wives. It will be his duty not to love a prodigal like myself, and perhaps our example will be a warning for him.
Very well. Now that we have well talked over, or rather you have well talked over, the useless and senseless, let us speak about the possible. Is it long since you have seen the Baroness de Spadetta?
I see women as little as possible, my dear Richard, as you know well. Those who would come to me, I do not wish to see; others have had an air of making me feel their visits too great an honour. Let them stay at home; every one is free. Women, besides, are for other women nothing but enemies or accomplices. As to enemies, I have enough of them out-of-doors, without attracting them to my house; as to accomplices, I have not yet required any, and I hope to continue so. I content myself with the society of men; at least with them one knows what to adhere to, one knows quite well what they desire. But as to Madame Spadetta, that speaks for itself: she robbed me, and I turned her out, or nearly so. In any case, I want to see her no more.
She robbed you! In what way?
She knew my mother from my infancy: she was sometimes the mediator of my mother and myself with my father on matters of business, as she occupied an important place about him. A short time before his death my father said to me, "If I should die, Madame de Spadetta will remit you 1,500,000 francs." My father could leave me nothing in an official and public will, but he was incapable of telling me a thing like that if it were not true. There was left to Madame de Spadetta 2,000,000, with this note: "I am sure that Madame de Spadetta will make good use of that sum." It is clear. She kept the whole; it was easy to do.
You have never spoken to me of that.
What good would it have done?
Have you claimed that amount from her?
Certainly. She denied it.
You might follow it up.
No; it is trust-money. The law does not recognize it, and besides…
I have only my word to support what I say. Madame de Spadetta replied to me that what my father had left her was in remuneration for services that her husband and she had rendered my father for thirty years. The truth is, that out of these two millions there were five hundred thousand francs for what she calls her services, and fifteen hundred thousand francs for me. It is for that that I turned her out of doors.
Knowing that I have the care of your affairs, she came to find me out…
To…
To offer you five hundred thousand francs.
On the part of whom? for she is a person equal to any kind of embassy.
On the part of your father's family.
What does she demand in return?..
The giving up…
Of all my father's letters.
Yes; you knew it?
I suspected it, from a few words she said to me. I refuse to do so.
Your mother, before she died, handed over, for a much less important amount, all the letters that she also possessed from your father.
My mother did as she pleased; I, too, shall do as I please; and, as my mother is dead, I refrain from saying all I think.
Why do you care so much about those letters?
You ask me that, Mr. Richard? Why do I care so much for the letters of a father whom I loved, who loved me, the man who was my father, and who is dead?
What do you intend to do with them?
To keep them, to read them over again, as I do now from time to time, when the living trouble or disgust me; and when I die, carry them with me and give them back to him – to him – if it be true that one meets again in death those one has loved in life. Who knows? Perhaps, after being so powerful on earth, he will have no one but me in heaven. So I must keep something by which he may know me – up there – since he was not able to recognize me here below.
How can one help worshipping that woman? (He takes her head between his hands and kisses her hair.) There.
The fact is that she has the blood of a good race in her, and that they named you very appropriately, calling you Lionnette – little lioness; but unfortunately it is not with that that creditors are paid, and I offer you the only way which is open to you.
God has hitherto given, God will give again; if He forget us, then chance must take us.
Scene II
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
