Oh, if that were only true!
Madame Bail. But it is true! She's crying now; her tears will ease her, and make her change her mind.
Lamblin. Yes, yes, let her cry, let her cry all she wants to!
Madame Bail. I tell you she is yours; she loves you.
Lamblin [brightening]. Is that true? [Madame Bail nods.] How happy I am! [A pause. His attitude changes.] But there's one thing that troubles me.
Madame Bail. What?
Lamblin [embarrassed]. No, nothing.
Madame Bail. Confide in me. Tell me. [A pause.]
Lamblin. Well, that lady who came here this evening—I'm afraid I was a little short with her. I think I offended her. I practically showed her the door.
Madame Bail. Don't worry about that. Perhaps you weren't so rude as you thought you were.
Lamblin. No, I'm sure. I know very well that—
Madame Bail. You mustn't worry and get all excited—
Lamblin. Do you know anything about it?
Madame Bail. No, nothing, only—as I rather suspected what was going on in here—and was afraid—of a quarrel—I met her as she was going out, and I—spoke to her.
Lamblin [taking her hands—joyfully]. I thank you! [They are both embarrassed for a moment, then sit down.] Ah, good. Well, and Marthe?
Madame Bail [pointing to Marthe who enters]. There she is. What did I tell you? [Marthe enters without saying a word. She brings her work, Madame Bail takes up hers, and sits next her. A pause. Madame Bail speaks to Marthe.] What a pretty design! Where did you find the pattern?
Marthe. I just picked it up at the store.
Madame Bail. It's charming. I must get one like it.
Lamblin [ill at ease]. May I see it, little one? [Marthe unrolls the embroidery for him and shows it.] Oh, it's perfectly lovely! We men would be hard put to it to make anything half as beautiful! [He laughs awkwardly, and pours out some cognac, in full sight of Marthe.]
Marthe [quickly]. That's ridiculous, Alfred. [Then she says slowly, as she lowers her eyes.] You'll make yourself ill!
Lamblin [in perfect contentment]. How charming she is!
[Curtain.]
FRANÇOISE' LUCK
A Comedy
By Georges de Porto-Riche
(La Chance de Françoise.)
Translated by Barrett H. Clark.
Copyright, 1917, by Stewart & Kidd Company.
All rights reserved.
| PERSONS REPRESENTED |
| Marcel Desroches. Guérin. Jean. Françoise. Madeleine. |
| Scene: Auteuil. Time: Present. |
Presented for the first time December 10,1888, in Paris, at the Théâtre Libre.
Françoise' Luck is reprinted from "Four Plays of the Free Theatre," translated by
Barrett H. Clark by permission of Messrs. Stewart & Kidd
Company, Cincinnati, Ohio.
FRANÇOISE' LUCK
A Comedy
By Georges de Porto-Riche
[A studio. At the back is a door opening upon a garden; doors to the right and left; likewise a small inconspicuous door to the left. There are a few pictures on easels. The table is littered with papers, books, weapons, bric-a-brac. Chairs and sofas. It is eleven o'clock in the morning.]
Françoise [a small, frail woman, with a melancholy look, at times rather mocking. As the curtain rises she is alone. She raises and lowers the window-blind from time to time]. A little more! There! Oh, the sunlight! How blinding! [Glancing at the studio with satisfaction.] How neat everything is! [In attempting to take something from the table, she knocks some papers to the floor.] Well! [Seeing a letter, among the papers she is picking up.] A letter! From Monsieur Guérin—[Reading.] "My dear friend, why do you persist in keeping silence? You say very little of the imprudent woman who has dared to become the companion of the handsome Marcel! Do you recompense her for her confidence in you, for her courage? You are not at all like other men: your frivolity, if you will permit the term, your—" [Interrupting herself.] He writes the word! [Continuing.] "Your cynicism makes me tremble for you. Absent for a year! How much friendship gone to waste! Why were we thrust apart the moment you were married? Why did my wife's health make sunlight an absolute necessity for her? We are now leaving Rome; in a month I'll drop in on you at Auteuil—" [Interrupting herself again.] Very soon!
[Marcel appears at the back.]
"I am very impatient to see you, and Very anxious to see Madame Desroches. I wonder whether she will take to me? I hope she will. Take care, you villain, I shall cross-question her carefully, and if I find the slightest shadow upon her happiness, her friend-to-be will be an angry man." [She stops reading and says to herself, sadly.] A friend—I should like that!
Marcel [carelessly dressed. He is of the type that appeals to women]. Ah, inquisitive, you read my letters?
Françoise. Oh, it's an old one—
Marcel [chaffing her]. From Guérin?
Françoise. I found it there, when I was putting the studio in order.
Marcel [tenderly]. The little romantic child is looking for a friend?
Françoise. I have so much to tell, so much about my recent happiness!
Marcel. Am I not that friend?
Françoise. You are the man I love. Should I consult with you, where your happiness is concerned?
Marcel. Too deep for me! [Yawning.] Oh, I'm tired!
Françoise. Did you come in late last
