DE RANDOL
A man falls in love with his wife before he marries her, but after marriage he never commits the same mistake.
MME. DE SALLUS
But perhaps he has never really been in love with me until now.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
It is absolutely impossible that he could have lived with you--even in his curt, cavalier fashion--without loving you.
MME. DE SALLUS [_indifferently_]
It is of little importance. He has either loved me in the past, or is now beginning to love me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Truly, I do not understand you. Tell me all about it.
MME. DE SALLUS
But I have nothing to tell. He declares his love for me, takes me in his arms, and threatens me with his conjugal rights. This upsets me, torments me, and annoys me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline you torture me.
MME. DE SALLUS [_quickly_]
And what about me? Do you think that I do not suffer? I know that I am not exactly a faithful woman since I received your addresses, but I have, and shall retain, a single heart. It is either you _or_ he. It will never be you _and_ he. For me that would be infamy--the greatest infamy of a guilty woman, the sharing of her heart--a thing that debases her. One may fall, perhaps, because there are ditches along the wayside and it is not always easy to follow the right path. But if one falls, that is no reason to throw oneself in the abyss.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_takes her in his arms and kisses her_]
I simply adore you!
MME. DE SALLUS [_melts_]
And I, too, love you dearly, Jacques, and that is the reason why I fear.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But, tell me, Madeline how long has it been since your husband reformed?
MME. DE SALLUS
Possibly fifteen days or three weeks.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Without relapse?
MME. DE SALLUS
Without relapse.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I will explain the mystery. The fact of the matter is this, your husband has simply become a widower.
MME. DE SALLUS
What do you say?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I mean that your husband is unattached just now, and seeks to spend his leisure time with his wife.
MME. DE SALLUS
But I tell you that he is in love with me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes--yes--and no. He is in love with you--and also with another. Tell me, his temper is usually bad, isn't it?
MME. DE SALLUS
Execrable!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, then, here is a man in love with you who shows his wonderful return of tenderness by moods that are simply unsupportable--for they are unsupportable, aren't they?
MME. DE SALLUS
Absolutely.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
If he wooed you with tenderness you would not feel fear. You would say to yourself, "My turn has come at last," and then he would inspire you with a little pity for him, for a woman has always a sneaking sort of compassion for the man who loves her, even though that man be her husband.
MME. DE SALLUS
Perhaps that is true.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Is he nervous, preoccupied?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And he is abrupt with you, not to say brutal? He demands his right without even praying for it?
MME. DE SALLUS
True.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
My darling, for the moment you are simply a substitute.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh! no, no!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
My dearest girl, your husband's latest mistress was Madame de Bardane, whom he left very abruptly about two months ago to run after the Santelli.
MME. DE SALLUS
What, the singer?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, a capricious, saucy, cunning, venal little woman. A woman not at all uncommon upon the stage, or in the world either, for that matter.
MME. DE SALLUS
Then that is why he haunts the Op?ra.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_laughs_]
Without a doubt.
MME. DE SALLUS [_dreamily_]
No, no, you are deceiving yourself.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_emphatically_]
The Santelli resists him and repulses him; then, burdened with a heart full of longing that has no outlet, he deigns to offer you a portion.
MME. DE SALLUS
My dear, you are dreaming. If he were in love with the Santelli, he would not tell me that he loves me. If he were so entirely preoccupied with this creature, he would not woo me. If he coveted her, he would not desire me at the same time.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
How little you understand certain kinds of men! Men like your husband, once inoculated with the poison of love,--which
