Such is the foolishness of women who know nothing of life.
L?ON
Well, father, why, if we have so many different views,--according as we are spectators or actors in the course of events,--why is there so much difference between the life of the imagination and the actual life; between that which one ought to do; that which you would that others should do, and that which you do yourself. Yes, what has happened is very painful; but the surprise of the event, its coincidence with the nuptial day makes it still more painful. We magnify--everything in our emotion, when it is ourselves that misfortune touches. Suppose, for a moment, that you had read this in your daily newspaper--
MME. DE RONCHARD [_seated_ L. _of table, indignantly_]
In my daily newspaper!
L?ON
Or in a romance. What emotion we should feel; what tears we should shed! How your sympathy would quickly go out to the poor little child whose birth was attained at the cost of his mother's life! How Jean would go up in your esteem; how frank, how loyal, how stanch in his fealty you would consider him; while, on the other hand, if he had deserted the dying woman, and had spirited away the little one into some distant village, you would not have had enough scorn for him, or enough insults for him. You would look upon him as a being without heart and without fear; and, you, my dear Aunt, thinking of the innumerable little bad dogs who owe you their lives, you would cry out with forcible gestures: "What a miserable scoundrel!"
MARTINEL [_seated_ L.]
That's perfectly true.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Dogs are worth more than men.
L?ON
Little children are not men, my dear Aunt. They have not had time to become bad.
PETITPR?
All that is very ingenious, Leon, and your special pleading is magnificent.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Yes, if you would only plead like that at the Palais.
PETITPR?
But this has nothing to do with a romance or with imaginary personages. We have married Gilberte to a young man in the ordinary conditions of life.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Without enthusiasm.
PETITPR?
Without enthusiasm, it is true, but nevertheless they are married, just the same. Now, on the evening of his nuptials, he brings us a present--I must say I do not care for a present which bawls.
L?ON
What does that prove, unless it is that your son-in-law is a brave man? What he has just done--risked his happiness in order to accomplish his duty--does it not say better than anything else could, how capable of devotion he is?
MARTINEL
Clear as the day.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
And this man from Havre admires him!
PETITPR?
Then you maintain that Gilberte, on the day, of her entry upon married life, should become the adopted mother of the son of her husband's mistress?
L?ON
Exactly; just as I maintain all that is honorable and disinterested. And you would think as I do if the thing did not concern your daughter.
PETITPR?
No; it is an inexcusable situation.
L?ON
Well, then, what do you propose to do?
PETITPR?
Well, nothing less than a divorce. The scandal of this night is sufficient.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]
Gilberte divorced! You don't dream of that, do you? Have all our friends closing their doors on her, the greater part of her relatives lost to her! Divorced! Come, come! in spite of your new law, that has not yet come into our custom and shall not come in so soon. Religion forbids it; the world accepts it only under protest; and when you have against you both religion and the world--
PETITPR?
But statistics prove--
MME. DE RONCHARD
Pshaw! Statistics! You can make them say what you wish. No, no divorce for Gilberte. [_In a soft, low voice_.] Simply a legal separation--that is admissible, at least, and it is good form. Let them separate. I am separated--all fashionable people separate, and everything goes all right, but as to divorce--
L?ON [_seriously_]
It seems to me that only one person has a right to speak in this matter, and we are forgetting her too long. [_Turns to Gilberte_.] You have heard everything, Gilberte; you are mistress of your own judgment and of your decision. Upon a word from you depend either pardon or rupture. My father has made his argument. What does your heart say? [_Gilberte tries to speak, but stops and breaks down_.] Think always that in refusing to pardon Jean you wound me, and if I see you unhappy from your determination to say no, I shall suffer exceedingly. Monsieur Martinel asks from you at once an answer for Jean. Let us do better. I will go and find him. It is from your lips; it is, above all, in your eyes, that he will learn his fate. [_Brings her gently to the front of the stage_.] My little sister, my. dear little sister, don't be too proud; don't be too haughty! Listen to that which your chagrin murmurs in your soul. Listen well, but do not mistake it for pride.
GILBERTE
But I have no pride. I do not know how I feel. I am ill. My joy has been blighted, and it poisons me.
L?ON
Take care! It takes so little in such moments as these to make wounds which are incurable.
GILBERTE
No, no! I am too much distressed. Perhaps I shall be hard, for I am afraid of him and of myself. I am afraid of breaking off everything, or of yielding everything.
L?ON
I am going to find Jean.
GILBERTE [_resolutely_]
No, I do not wish to see him. I forbid it!
L?ON
Let me tell you something, my little Gilberte: You are less intelligent than I thought.
GILBERTE
Why?
