Bail. What do you intend to do about it? You keep on saying the same thing. I'm an experienced woman. Why don't you take my word, and be a philosopher, the way all women are, the way I've had to be more than once? If you think for one moment that your own father—! Well, we won't say anything about him.
Marthe. Philosopher, philosopher! A nice way to put it! In what way is that Mathilde Cogé, who is his mistress, better than I? I'd like to know that!
Madame Bail. In any event, he might have done much worse. She is a widow, a woman of the world, and she isn't ruining him. I know her slightly; I've seen her at Madame Parent's. She just seems a little mad, and not in the least spiteful!
Marthe [raging]. Ah!
Madame Bail. But what are you going to do about it?
Marthe. It would be best to separate.
Madame Bail. Why didn't you think of that sooner? You know very well you'd be sorry the moment you'd done it.
Marthe. Don't you think that would be best for us all? What am I doing here? What hopes have I for the future? Merely to complete the happiness of Monsieur, who deigns to see in me an agreeable nurse, who occasionally likes to rest by my side after his escapades elsewhere! 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. God 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 attitude 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 reëntering, 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 [embarrassed]. 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 embarrassed!
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 Cogé.]
You?
Madame Cogé. What do you think of my trick?
Lamblin. Detestable as well as dangerous.
Madame Cogé. 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 principal 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 Cogé. I decided this morning. You were so nice yesterday!
Lamblin. You must go at once! What if some one found you here?
Madame Cogé. 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 Cogé. 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.
