Scene IV.



(Musotte _and_ Jean.)

MUSOTTE

Then you received the letter?

JEAN

Yes.

MUSOTTE

And you came immediately?

JEAN

Certainly.

MUSOTTE

Thanks--ah! thanks. I hesitated a long time before warning
you--hesitated even this morning, but I heard the midwife talking with
the nurse and learned that to-morrow perhaps it might be too late, so I
sent Doctor Pellerin to call you immediately.

JEAN

Why didn't you call me sooner?

MUSOTTE

I never thought that my illness would become so serious. I did not wish
to trouble your life.

JEAN [_points to the cradle_]

But that child! How is it that I was not told of this sooner?

MUSOTTE

You would never have known it, if his birth had not killed me. I would
have spared you this pain--this cloud upon your life. When you left me,
you gave me enough to live upon. Everything was over between us; and
besides, at any other moment than this, would you believe me if I said
to you: "This is your child?"

JEAN

Yes, I have never doubted you.

MUSOTTE

You are as good as ever, my Jean. No, no, I am not lying to you; he is
yours, that little one there. I swear it to you on my deathbed; I swear
it to you before God!

JEAN

I have already told you that I believed you. I have always believed you.

MUSOTTE

Listen, this is all that has happened. As soon as you left me, I became
very ill. I suffered so much that I thought I was going to die. The
doctor ordered a change of air. You remember, it was in the spring. I
went to Saint-Malo--to that old relative, of whom I have often talked to
you.

JEAN

Yes, yes.

MUSOTTE

It was in Saint-Malo, after some days, that I realized that you had left
me a pledge of your affection. My first desire was to tell you
everything, for I knew that you were an honest man--that you would have
recognized this child, perhaps even have given up your marriage; but I
would not have had you do that. All was over; was it not?--and it was
better that it should be so. I knew that I could never be your wife
[_smiles_], Musotte, me, Madame Martinel--oh, no!

JEAN

My poor, dear girl. How brutal and hard we men are, without thinking of
it and without wishing to be so!

MUSOTTE

Don't say that. I was not made for you. I was only a little model; and
you, you were a rising artist, and I never thought that you would belong
to me forever. [Jean _sheds tears_.] No, no, don't cry; you have nothing
to reproach yourself with. You have always been so good to me. It is
only God who has been cruel to me.

JEAN

Musotte!

MUSOTTE

Let me go on. I remained at Saint-Malo without revealing my condition.
Then I came back to Paris, and here some months afterward the little one
was born--the child! When I fully understood what had happened to me, I
experienced at first such fear; yes, such fear! Then I remembered that
he was bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh; that you had given
him life, and that he was a pledge from you. But one is so stupid when
one knows nothing. One's ideas change just as one's moods change, and I
became contented all at once; contented with the thought that I would
bring him up, that he would grow to be a man, that he would call me
mother. [_Weeps._] Now, he will never call me mother. He will never put
his little arms around my neck, because I am going to leave him; because
I am going away--I don't know where; but there, where everybody goes.
Oh, God! My God!

JEAN

Calm yourself, my little Musotte. Would you be able to speak as you do
speak if you were as ill as you think you are?

MUSOTTE

You do not see that the fever is burning within me; that I am losing my
head, and don't know longer what I say.

JEAN

No, no; please calm yourself.

MUSOTTE

Pet me; pet me, Jean, and you will calm me.

JEAN [_kisses her hair; then resumes_]

There, there; don't speak any more for a minute or two. Let us remain
quietly here near each other.

MUSOTTE

But I must speak to you; I have so many things to say to you yet, and do
not know how to say them. My head is beyond my control. Oh, my God! how
shall I do it? [_Raises herself, looks around her and sees the cradle._]
Ah, yes, I know; I recollect, it is he, my child. Tell me, Jean, what
will you do with him? You know that I am an orphan, and when I am gone
he will be here all alone--alone in the world! Poor little thing! Listen,
Jean, my head is quite clear now. I shall understand very well what you
answer me now, and the peace of my closing moments depends upon it. I
have no one to leave the little one to but you.

JEAN

I promise you that I will take him, look after him, and bring him up.

MUSOTTE

As a father?

JEAN

As a father.

MUSOTTE

You have already seen him?

JEAN

Yes.

MUSOTTE

Go and look at him again. [Jean _goes over to the cradle._]

JEAN

He is pretty, isn't he?

MUSOTTE

Everybody says so. Look at him, the poor little darling, who has enjoyed
only a few days of life as yet. He belongs to us. You are his father; I
am his mother, but soon he will have a mother no more. [_In anguish._]
Promise me that he shall always have a father.

JEAN [_goes over to her_]

I promise it, my darling!

MUSOTTE

A true father, who will always love him well?

JEAN I promise it.

MUSOTTE

You will be good--very good--to him?

JEAN

I swear it to you!

MUSOTTE

And then, there is something else--but I dare not--

JEAN

Tell it to me.

MUSOTTE

Since I came back to Paris, I have sought to see you without being seen
by you, and I have seen you three times. Each time you were with
her--with your sweetheart, your wife, and with a gentleman--her father,
I think. Oh, how I looked at her! I asked myself: "Will she love him as
I have loved him? Will she make him happy? Is she good?" Tell me, do you
really believe she is very good?

JEAN

Yes, darling, I believe it.

MUSOTTE

You are very certain of it?

JEAN

Yes, indeed.

MUSOTTE

And I thought so, too, simply from seeing her pass by. She is so pretty!
I have been a little jealous, and I wept on coming back. But what are
you going to do now as between her and your son?

JEAN

I shall do my duty.

MUSOTTE

Your duty? Does that mean by her or by him?

JEAN

By him.

MUSOTTE

Listen, Jean: when I am no more, ask your wife from me, from the mouth
of a dead woman, to adopt him, this dear little morsel of humanity-to
love him as I would have loved him; to be a mother to him in my stead.
If she is tender and kind, she will consent. Tell her how you saw me
suffer--that my last prayer, my last supplication on earth was offered
up for her. Will you do this?

JEAN

I promise you that I will.

MUSOTTE

Ah! How good you are! Now I fear nothing; my poor little darling is
safe, and I am happy and calm. Ah, how calm I am! You didn't know, did
you, that I called him Jean, after you? That does not displease you,
does it?

JEAN [_weeps_]

No, no!

MUSOTTE

You weep--so you still love me a little, Jean? Ah, how I thank you for
this! But if I only could live; it must be possible. I feel so much
better since you came here, and since you have promised me all that I
have asked you. Give me your hand. At this moment I can recall all our
life together, and I am content--almost gay; in fact, I can laugh--see,
I can laugh, though I don't know why. [_Laughs._]

JEAN

Oh, calm yourself for my sake, dear little Musotte.

MUSOTTE

If you could only understand how recollections throng upon me. Do you
remember that I posed for your "Mendiante," for your "Violet Seller,"
for your "Guilty Woman," which won for you your first medal? And do you
remember the breakfast at Ledoyen's on Varnishing Day? There were more
than twenty-five at a table intended for ten. What follies we committed,
especially that little, little--what did he call himself--I mean that
little comic fellow, who was always making portraits which resembled no
one? Oh, yes, Tavernier! And you took me home with you to your studio,
where you had two great manikins which frightened me so, and I called to
you, and you came in to reassure me. Oh, how heavenly all that was! Do
you remember? [_Laughs again_.] Oh, if that life could only begin over
again! [_Cries suddenly_.] Ah, what pain! [_To_ Jean, _who is going for
the doctor_.] No, stay, stay! [_Silence. A sudden change comes over her
face_.] See, Jean, what glorious weather! If you like, we will take the
baby for a sail on a river steamboat; that will be so jolly! I love
those little steamboats; they are so pretty. They glide over the water
quickly and without noise. Now that I am your wife, I can assert
myself--I am armed. Darling, I never thought that you would marry me.
And look at our little one--how pretty he is, and how he grows! He is
called Jean after you. And I--I have my two little Jeans--mine--altogether
mine! You don't know how happy I am. And the little one walks to-day for
the first time! [_Laughs aloud, with her arms stretched out, pointing to
the child which she thinks is before her_.]

JEAN [_weeps_]

Musotte! Musotte! Don't you know me?

MUSOTTE

Indeed I know you! Am I not your wife? Kiss me, darling. Kiss me, my
little one.

JEAN [_takes her in his arms, weeping and repeating_]

Musotte! Musotte! [Musotte _rises upon her couch, and with a gesture to_
Jean _points to the cradle, toward which he goes, nodding "Yes, yes,"
with his head. When_ Jean _reaches the cradle,_ Musotte, _who has raised
herself upon her hands, falls lifeless upon the long steamer-chair._
Jean, _frightened, calls out_] Pellerin! Pellerin!

Scene V.



(_The same:_ Pellerin, Mme. Flache, _and_ La Babin, _enter quickly_ R.)

PELLERIN [_who has gone swiftly to_ Musotte, _feels her pulse and
listens at the heart_]

Her heart is not beating! Give me a mirror, Madame Flache.

JEAN

My God! [Mme. Flache _gives a hand-mirror to_ Pellerin, _who holds it
before the lips of_ Musotte, _Pause_.]

PELLERIN [_in a low voice_]

She is dead!

JEAN [_takes the dead woman's hand and kisses it fondly, his voice
choked with emotion_]

Farewell, my dear little Musotte! To think that a moment ago you were
speaking to me--a moment ago you were looking at me, you saw me, and
now--all is over!

PELLERIN [_goes to_ Jean _and takes him by the shoulder_]

Now, you must go at once. Go! You have nothing more to do here. Your
duty is over.

JEAN [_rises_]

I go. Farewell, poor little Musotte!

PELLERIN


I will take care of everything this evening. But the child, do you wish
me to find an asylum for him?

JEAN

Oh, no, I will take him. I have sworn it to that poor, dead darling.
Come and join me immediately at my house, and bring him with you. Then I
shall have another service to request of you. But how about Musotte, who
is going to remain with her?

MME. FLACHE

I, Monsieur. Have no anxiety; I am acquainted with all that must be
done.

JEAN

Thank you, Madame. [_Approaches the bed; closes_ Musotte's _eyes and
kisses her fondly and for a long time upon her forehead_.] Farewell,
Musotte, forever! [_Goes softly to the cradle, removes the veil, kisses
the child and speaks to it in a firm voice which at the same time is
full of tears_.] I shall see you again directly, my little Jean!

[_Exit quickly_].

Act III.


Scene I.


(_Same setting as in_ Act I.)

(Monsieur de Petitpré, Mme. de Ronchard, M. Martinel, _and_ Léon.)

MME. DE RONCHARD [_walks about in an agitated manner_]

Seven minutes to midnight! It is nearly two hours since Jean left us!

LEON [_seated_ L.]

But, my dear Aunt, just allow a half hour in the carriage for going and
a half hour for returning, and there remains just one hour for the
business he had to attend to.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Was it so very long, then--the business that called him hence?

LEON

Yes, my dear Aunt; and now, why worry yourself by counting the minutes?
Your agitation will change nothing in the end, and will not hasten
Jean's return by a single second, or make the hands of the clock move
more quickly.

MME. DE RONCHARD

How can you ask me not to worry when my mind is full of anxiety, when my
heart is beating, and I feel the tears rising into my eyes?

LÉON

But, my dear Aunt, you know very well you do not feel as badly as that.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Oh, you irritate me!

MARTINEL [_seated near the table_]

Don't torment yourself, Madame. True, the situation is a rather delicate
one, but it need not disquiet you or frighten us, if we know how to
bring to its consideration at this moment coolness and reason.

LÉON

Just so, my dear Aunt, Monsieur Martinel speaks truly.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_crosses_ R.]

You ought to be beaten, you two! You know everything, and won't tell
anything. How annoying men are! There is never any means of making them
tell a secret.

MARTINEL

Jean will come presently and will tell you everything. Have a little
patience.

PETITPRÉ

Yes; let us be calm. Let us talk of other things, or be silent, if we
can.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Be silent! That is about, the most difficult thing--

A SERVANT [_enters_ R.]

A gentleman wishes to see M. Martinel.

MARTINEL [_rises_.]

Pardon me for a moment. [_To the servant._] Very well, I am coming.
[_Exit_ R.]

Scene II.



MME. DE RONCHARD [_approaches servant quickly_]

Baptiste, Baptiste! Who is asking for M. Martinel?

SERVANT

I do not know, Madame. It was the hall porter who came upstairs.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Well, run now and look without showing yourself, and come back and tell
us at once.

PETITPRÉ [_who has risen at the entrance of the servant_]

No, I will permit no spying; let us wait. We shall not have to wait long
now. [_To the servant._] You may go. [_Exit servant._]

MME. DE RONCHARD [_to_ Petitpré]

I do not understand you at all. You are absolutely calm. One would think
that your daughter's happiness was nothing to you. For myself, I am
profoundly agitated.

PETITPRÉ

That will do no good. [_Sits near the table_ R.] Let us talk--talk
reasonably, now that we are a family party and Monsieur Martinel is
absent.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_Sits_ R.]

If that man would only go back to Havre!

LÉON [_Sits_ L. _of table_]

That would not change anything even if he could go back to Havre.

PETITPRÉ

For my part, I think--

MME. DE RONCHARD [_interrupts_]

Do you wish to hear my opinion? Well, I think that they are preparing us
for some unpleasant surprise; that they wish to entrap us, as one might
say.

PETITPRÉ

But why? In whose interest? Jean Martinel is an honest man, and he loves
my child. Léon, whose judgment I admire, although he is my son--

LEON

Thank you, father!

PETITPRÉ

Léon bears Jean as much affection as esteem. As to the uncle--

MME. DE RONCHARD

Don't talk about them, I pray. It is this woman who is seeking to entrap
us. She has played some little comedy, and she chooses to-day above all
others for its _dénouement_. It is her stage climax; her masterpiece of
treachery.

LÉON

As in "The Ambigu."

MME. DE RONCHARD

Do not laugh. I know these women. I have suffered enough at their hands.

PETITPRÉ

Oh, my poor Clarisse; if you really understood them, you would have held
your husband better than you did.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]

What do you mean by "understanding" them? Pardon me--to live with that
roisterer coming in upon me when and whence he pleased--I prefer my
broken life and my loneliness--with you!

PETITPRÉ

No doubt you are right from your point of view of a married woman; but
there are other points of view, perhaps less selfish and certainly
superior, such as that of family interest.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Of family interest, indeed? Do you mean to say that I was wrong from the
point of view of the family interest--you, a magistrate!

PETITPRÉ

My duties as a magistrate have made me very prudent, for I have seen
pass under my eyes many equivocal and terrible situations, which not
only agonized my conscience but gave me many cruel hours of indecision.
Man is often so little responsible and circumstances are often so
powerful. Our impenetrable nature is so capricious, our instincts are so
mysterious that we must be tolerant and even indulgent in the presence
of faults which are not really crimes, and which exhibit nothing vicious
or abandoned in the man himself.

MME. DE RONCHARD

So, then, to deceive one's wife is not deceitful, and you say such a
thing before your son? Truly, a pretty state of affairs! [_Crosses_ L.]

LÉON

Oh, I have my opinion also about that, my dear Aunt.

PETITPRÉ [_rises_]

It is not almost a crime,--it is one. But it is looked upon to-day as so
common a thing that one scarcely punishes it at all. It is punished by
divorce, which is a house of refuge for most men. The law prefers to
separate them with decency--timidly, rather than drag them apart as in
former times.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Your learned theories are revolting, and I wish--

LÉON [_rises_]

Ah, here is Monsieur Martinel.

Scene III.



(_The same, and_ Monsieur Martinel.)

MARTINEL [_with great emotion_]

I come to fulfill an exceedingly difficult task. Jean, who has gone to
his own house, before daring to present himself here, has sent Doctor
Pellerin to me. I am commissioned by him to make you acquainted with the
sad position in which Jean finds himself,--in which we all find
ourselves.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Ah, ha! Now, I am going to learn something!

MARTINEL

By a letter which you will read presently, we have learned this evening,
in this house, of a new misfortune. A woman of whose existence you are
all aware was at the point of death.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Did I not predict that she would do just this thing?

LÉON

Let M. Martinel speak, my dear Aunt.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And now that this woman has seen him, how does she feel--his dying
patient? Better, without a doubt?

MARTINEL [_quietly_]

She died, Madame, died before his eyes.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Died this evening! Impossible!

MARTINEL

Nevertheless, it is so, Madame.

LÉON [_aside_]

Poor little Musotte!

MARTINEL

There is a serious thing to be considered here. This woman left a child,
and that child's father is Jean.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_stupefied_]

A child!

MARTINEL [_to_ Petitpré]

Read the physician's letter, Monsieur. [_Hands_ Petitpré _the letter,
and_ Petitpré _reads it_.]

MME. DE RONCHARD

He had a child and he has never confessed it; has never said anything
about it; has hidden it from us! What infamy!

MARTINEL

He would have told you in due time.

MME. DE RONCHARD

He would have told! That is altogether too strong--you are mocking us!

LÉON

But, my dear Aunt, let my father answer. I shall go and find Gilberte.
She will be dying of anxiety. We have no right to hide the truth from
her any longer. I am going to acquaint her with it.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_accompanying him to the door_]

You have a pleasant task, but you will not succeed in arranging matters.

LÉON [_at door_ L.]

In any case I shall not embroil them with each other as you would.

[_Exit_ L.]

Scene IV.



(Petitpré, Martinel, _and_ Madame de Ronchard.)

PETITPRÉ [_who has finished reading the letter_]

Then, Martinel, you say that your nephew was ignorant of the situation
of this woman.

MARTINEL

Upon my honor.

MME. DE RONCHARD

It is incredible.

MARTINEL

I will answer you in a word. If my nephew had known of this situation,
would he have done what he has this evening?

PETITPRÉ

Explain yourself more clearly.

MARTINEL

It is very simple. If he had known sooner of the danger this woman was
in, do you think that he would have waited until the last moment, and
have chosen this very evening--this supreme moment--to say good-bye to
this poor, dying woman, and to reveal to you the existence of his
illegitimate son? No, men hide these unfortunate children when and how
they please. You know that as well as I, Monsieur. To run the risk of
throwing us all into such a state of emotion and threatening his own
future, as he has done, it would seem that Jean must be a madman, and he
is by no means that. Had he known sooner of this situation, do you think
that he would not have confided in me, and that I would have been so
stupid--yes, I--as not to avert this disaster? Why, I tell you it is as
clear as day.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_agitated, walks to and fro rapidly_ L.]

Clear as the day--clear as the day!

MARTINEL

Yes, indeed. If we had not received this piece of news as a bomb which
destroys the power of reflection, if we could have taken time to reason
the thing out, to make plans, we could have hidden everything from you,
and the devil would have been in it before you would have known
anything! Our fault has been that of being too sincere and too loyal.
Yet, I do not regret it; it is always better to act openly in life.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Permit me, Monsieur--

PETITPRÉ

Silence, Clarisse. [_To_ Martinel.] Be it so, Monsieur. There is no
question of your honor or of your loyalty, which have been absolutely
patent in this unfortunate affair. I willingly admit that your nephew
knew nothing of the situation, but how about the child? What is there to
prove that it is Jean's?

MARTINEL

Jean alone can prove or disprove that. He believes it, and you know that
it is not to his interest to believe it. There is nothing very joyful
about such a complication--a poor, little foundling thrusting himself
upon one like a thunderbolt, without warning, and upon the very evening
of one's marriage. But Jean believes that the child is his, and I--and
all of us--must we not accept it as he has accepted it, as the child's
father has accepted it? Come, now. [_A short silence._] You ask me to
prove to you that this child belongs to Jean?

MME. DE RONCHARD AND PETITPRÉ [_together_]

Yes!

MARTINEL

Then first prove to me that it is not Jean's child.

MME. DE RONCHARD

You ask an impossibility.

MARTINEL

And so do you. The principal judge in the matter, look you, is my nephew
himself. We others can do nothing but accept his decision.

MME. DE RONCHARD

But meanwhile--

PETITPRÉ

Silence, Clarisse. Monsieur Martinel is right.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_ironically_]

Say that again.

MARTINEL

There can be no better reason, Madame. [_To_ Petitpré.] I was quite sure
that you would understand me, Monsieur, for you are a man of sense.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And what am I, then?

MARTINEL

You are a woman of the world, Madame.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And it is exactly as a woman of the world that I protest, Monsieur. You
have a very pretty way of putting things, but none the less this is a
fact: Jean Martinel brings to his bride, as a nuptial present, on the
day of his marriage, an illegitimate child. Well, I ask you, woman of
the world or not, can she accept such a thing?

PETITPRÉ

My sister is in the right this time, Monsieur Martinel.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And by no means too soon.

PETITPRÉ

It is evident that a situation exists patent and undeniable, which
places us in an awkward dilemma. We have wedded our daughter to a man
supposedly free from all ties and all complications in life, and then
comes--what you know has come. The consequences should be endured by
him, not by us. We have been wounded and deceived in our confidence, and
the consent that we have given to this marriage we should certainly have
refused, had we known the actual circumstances.

MME. DE RONCHARD

We should have refused? I should say so--not only once, but twice.
Besides, this child, if Jean brings it into the house, will certainly be
a cause of trouble among us all. Consider, Gilberte will probably become
a mother in her turn, and then what jealousies, what rivalries, what
hatred, perhaps, will arise between this intruder and her own children.
This child will be a veritable apple of discord.

MARTINEL

Oh, no, no! he will not be a burden to anyone. Thanks to Jean's
liberality, this child's mother will have left him enough to live
comfortably, and, later, when he has become a man, he will travel, no
doubt. He will do as I have done; as nine-tenths of the human race do.

PETITPRÉ

Well, until then, who will take care of it?

MARTINEL

I, if it is agreeable. I am a free man, retired from business; and it
will give me something to do, something to distract me. I am ready to
take him with me at once, the poor little thing--[_looks at_ Mme. de
Ronchard] unless Madame, who is so fond of saving lost dogs--

MME. DE RONCHARD

That child! I! Oh, that would be a piece of foolishness.

MARTINEL

Yet, Madame, if you care to have him, I will yield my right most
willingly.

MME. DE RONCHARD

But Monsieur, I never said--

MARTINEL

Not as yet, true, but perhaps you will say it before very long, for I am
beginning to understand you. You are an assumed man-hater and nothing
else. You have been unhappy in your married life and that has embittered
you--just as milk may turn upon its surface, but at the bottom of the
churn there is butter of fine quality.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_frowns_]

What a comparison!--milk--butter--pshaw! how vulgar!

PETITPRÉ

But Clarisse--

MARTINEL

Here is your daughter.

Scene V.



(_The same, and_ Gilberte _and_ Leon _who enter_ L.)

PETITPRÉ [_approaches Gilberte_]

Before seeing your husband again, if you decide to see him, it is
necessary that we should decide exactly what you are going to say to
him.

GILBERTE [_greatly moved, sits_ L. _of table_]

I knew it was some great misfortune.

MARTINEL [_sits beside her_]

Yes, my child; but there are two kinds of misfortune--those that come
from the faults of men, and those that spring purely from the hazards of
fate; that is to say, destiny. In the first case, the man is guilty; in
the second case, he is a victim. Do you understand me?

GILBERTE

Yes, Monsieur.

MARTINEL

A misfortune of which some one person is the victim can also wound
another person very cruelly. But will not the heart of this second
wounded and altogether innocent, person bestow a pardon upon the
involuntary author of her disaster?

GILBERTE [_in a sad voice_]

That depends upon the suffering which she undergoes.

MARTINEL Meanwhile, you knew that before Jean loved you, before he
conceived the idea of marrying you, he had--an intrigue. You accepted
the fact as one which had nothing exceptional about it.

GILBERTE

I did accept it.

MARTINEL

And now your brother may tell you the rest.

GILBERTE

Yes, Monsieur.

MARTINEL

What shall I say to Jean?

GILBERTE

I am too much agitated to tell you yet. This woman, of whom I did not
think at all, whose very existence was a matter of indifference to
me--her death has frightened me. It seems that she has come between Jean
and me, and will always remain there. Everything that I have heard of
her prophesies this estrangement. But you knew her--this woman did you
not, Monsieur?

MARTINEL

Yes, Madame, and I can say nothing but good of her. Your brother and I
have always looked upon her as irreproachable in her fidelity to Jean.
She loved him with a pure, devoted, absolute, and lasting affection. I
speak as a man who has deplored deeply this intrigue, for I look upon
myself as a father to Jean, but we must try to be just to everyone.

GILBERTE

And did Jean love her very much, too?

MARTINEL

Oh, yes, certainly he did, but his love began to wane. Between them
there was too much of a moral and social distance. He lived with her,
however, drawn to her by the knowledge of the deep and tender affection
which she bestowed upon him.

GILBERTE [_gravely_]

And Jean went to see her die?

MARTINEL

He had just time to say farewell to her.

GILBERTE [_to herself_]

If I could only tell what passed between them at that moment! Ah, this
wretched death is worse for me than if she were alive!

MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_ R. _and goes up stage_]

I really do not understand you, my dear. The woman has died--so much the
better for you. May God deliver you from all such!

GILBERTE

No, my dear Aunt; the feeling I have just now is so painful that I would
sooner know her to be far away than to know her dead.

PETITPRÉ [_comes down_]

Yes, I admit that is the sentiment of a woman moved by a horrible
catastrophe; but there is one grave complication in the matter--that of
the child. Whatever may be done with it, he will none the less be the
son of my son-in-law and a menace to us all.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And a subject for ridicule. See what the world will say of us in a
little while.

LÉON

Leave the world to itself, my dear Aunt, and let us occupy ourselves
with our own business. [_Goes to Gilberte_.] Now, Gilberte, is it the
idea of the child that moves you so deeply?

GILBERTE

Oh, no,--the poor little darling!

PETITPRÉ

Such is the foolishness of women who know nothing of life.

LÉON

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!

LÉON

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.

LÉON

Little children are not men, my dear Aunt. They have not had time to
become bad.

PETITPRÉ

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.

PETITPRÉ

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.

PETITPRÉ

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.

LÉON

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!

PETITPRÉ

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?

LÉON

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.

PETITPRÉ

No; it is an inexcusable situation.

LÉON

Well, then, what do you propose to do?

PETITPRÉ

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--

PETITPRÉ

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--

LÉON [_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.

LÉON

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.

LÉON

I am going to find Jean.

GILBERTE [_resolutely_]

No, I do not wish to see him. I forbid it!

LÉON

Let me tell you something, my little Gilberte: You are less intelligent
than I thought.

GILBERTE

Why?

LÉON

Because in such moments as these it is necessary to say yes or no at
once. [_Jean appears at door_ R.]

Scene VI.



(_The same, and_ Jean Martinel _standing at door_ R.)

GILBERTE [_with a stifled cry_]

It is he!

LÉON [_goes up to_ Jean _and taking him by the hand_]

Welcome!

JEAN

I am like a prisoner awaiting the decision of his judges--whether it be
acquittal or death. The moments through which I have just passed I shall
never forget.

LÉON

Your uncle and I have said all that we had to say. Now speak for
yourself.

JEAN

I do not know how. It must be to my wife alone. I dare not speak before
you all. I ask but a moment. After that I go, and I shall leave the
house if my wife's attitude indicates that I ought. I shall do exactly
what she would have me. I shall become that which she may order. But I
must hear from her _own_ lips her decision as to my life. [_To_
Gilberte.] You cannot refuse me that, Madame. It is the only prayer that
I shall ever make to you, I swear, if this request to you remains
ungranted. [_They stand face to face and look at each other_.]

GILBERTE

No, I cannot refuse you. Father, Aunt, please leave me alone for a few
minutes with Monsieur Martinel. You can see that I am perfectly calm.

PETITPRÉ

But--but--

JEAN [_determinedly to_ M. Petitpré]

Monsieur, I shall not gainsay your will in anything. I shall do nothing
without your approval. I have not returned here to contest your
authority or to speak of rights; but I respectfully ask permission to
remain alone a few minutes with--my wife! Consider that this is perhaps
our last interview and that our future depends upon it.

MME. DE RONCHARD

It is solely the future of Gilberte which concerns me.

JEAN [_to_ Mme. de Ronchard]

I appeal simply to your heart, Madame; your heart, which has suffered.
Do not forget that your irritation and your bitterness against me come
from the misfortune that another man has inflicted upon you. Your life
has been broken by him. Do not wish the same for me. You have been
unhappy; married scarcely a year. [_Points to_ Gilberte.] Will you say
that she shall be married scarcely a day, and that later she shall talk
of her broken life--ceaselessly guarding in her mind the memory of this
evening's disaster? [_At a movement of_ Mme. de Ronchard.] I know you to
be kind, although you deny it, and I promise you, Madame, that if I
remain Gilberte's husband, I shall love you as a son, as a son worthy of
you.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_very much moved_]

A son! He has stirred me deeply! [_Whispers to_ Petitpré.] Come away,
let us leave them alone. [_Embraces_ Gilberte.]

PETITPRÉ [_to_ Jean]

Well, so be it, Monsieur. [_Rises and exit_ C., _offering his arm to_
Mme. de Ronchard.]

MARTINEL [_to_ Léon]

They are going to talk with that [_touches his heart_]; it is the only
true eloquence.

[_Exit with_ Léon C.]

Scene VII.


(Gilberte and Jean.)

JEAN

You know all, do you not?

GILBERTE

Yes. And I have been deeply wounded.

JEAN

I hope you do not accuse me of lying or of any other dissimulation.

GILBERTE

Oh, no!

JEAN

Do you blame me for having left you this evening?


GILBERTE

I blame no one who does his duty.

JEAN

You did not know this woman--and she is dead.

GILBERTE

It is just because she is dead that she troubles me thus.

JEAN

Impossible; you must have another reason. [_With hesitation._] The
child?

GILBERTE [_quickly_]

No, no! don't deceive yourself. The poor little darling! it is not his
fault. No, I suffer from something which is peculiar to myself, which
can come only from me, and which I cannot confess to you. It is a sorrow
deep in my heart, so keen, when I felt it spring to birth under the
words of my brother and your uncle, that, should I ever experience it
again when living with you as your wife, I should never be able to
dispel it.

JEAN

What is it?

GILBERTE

I cannot tell it. [_Sits_ L.]

JEAN [_stands_]

Listen to me. It is necessary that at this moment there should not be
between us the shadow of a misunderstanding. All our life depends upon
it. You are my wife, but I admit that you are absolutely free after what
has happened. I will do as you wish. I am ready to agree to everything
you desire, even to a divorce if you demand it. But what will happen to
me after that I do not know, for I love you so that the thought of
losing you after winning you will throw me mercilessly into some
desperate resolve. [_Sees_ Gilberte _moved._] I do not seek to soften
you, to move you--I simply tell you the naked truth. I feel, and I have
felt during the whole night, through all the shocks and horrible
emotions of the drama that has just been enacted, that you hold for me
the keenest wound. If you banish me now, I am a lost man.

GILBERTE [_much moved_]

Do you really love me as much as that?

JEAN

With a love that I feel is ineffaceable.

GILBERTE

Did you love her?

JEAN

I did indeed love her. I experienced a tender attachment for a gentle
and devoted girl. [_In a low voice, with passion._] Listen: that which I
am going to tell you is unworthy, perhaps infamous, but I am only a
human being, feeble as anyone else. Well, just now, in the presence of
this poor, dying girl, my eyes were filled with tears and my sobs choked
me--all my being vibrated with sorrow; but at the bottom of my soul, in
the depths of my being, I thought only of you.

GILBERTE [_rises quickly_]

Do you mean that?

JEAN [_simply_]

I cannot lie to you.

GILBERTE

Well, do you know what made me suffer just now when my brother told me
of this intrigue and death? I can tell it to you now. I was jealous! It
was unworthy of me, wasn't it? Jealous of this poor, dead woman! But he
spoke so well of her as to move me, and I felt that she loved you so
much that you might find me perhaps indifferent and cold after her, and
that hurt me so! I had so much fear of experiencing that that I thought
of renouncing you.

JEAN

And now?--Gilberte! Gilberte!

GILBERTE [_extends her hands_]

I am here, Jean! take me!

JEAN

Ah, how grateful I am. [_Kisses her hands; then immediately after, with
emotion._] But here another anguish seizes me. I have promised this poor
woman to take and cherish this child in my own home. [Gilberte _makes a
movement_.] That is not all. Do you know what her last thought, her last
prayer was? She entreated me to commend the child to you.

GILBERTE

To me!

JEAN

To you, Gilberte.

GILBERTE [_profoundly moved_]

She did this, the poor woman? Did she believe that I would take--

JEAN

She hoped it, and in that hope her death was made easier.

GILBERTE [_in exalted mood, crosses_ R.]

Yes, I will take it! where is it?

JEAN

At my house.

GILBERTE

At your house? You must go to it immediately.

JEAN

What! leave you now, at this moment?

GILBERTE

We will go together, since I was to have accompanied you to your house
this evening.

JEAN [_joyously_]

Oh, Gilberte! But your father will not let us go.

GILBERTE

Well, do you know what we must do, since my packing is finished, and my
maid awaits me at your house? You must carry me off.

JEAN

Carry you off?

GILBERTE

Give me my cloak and let us go. All can be explained tomorrow. [_Shows
the cloak that she had left upon the chair in the first act._] My cloak,
please.

JEAN [_picks up the cloak quickly and throws it over her shoulders_]

You are the most adorable creature! [Gilberte _takes his arm and they go
toward door_ R.]

Scene VIII.



(_Enter_ Mme. de Ronchard, M. Petitpré, M. Martinel, _and_ Léon C.)

MME. DE RONCHARD

Well, what are they doing? Are they going away now?

PETITPRÉ

Why, what does it mean?

GILBERTE

Yes; father, I am going away. I am going with my husband; but I shall be
here to-morrow to ask pardon for this hurried flight, and to explain to
you the reason for it.

PETITPRÉ

Were you going without saying good-bye to us--without embracing us?

GILBERTE

Yes, in order to avoid more discussions.

LÉON

She is right. Let them go.

GILBERTE [_throws herself upon_ Petitpré's _neck_]

Till to-morrow, father; till to-morrow, my dear Aunt. Good night, all; I
have had enough of emotion and fatigue.

MME. DE RONCHARD [_goes to_ Gilberte _and embraces her_]

Yes, run along, darling--there is a little one over there who waits for
a mother!

_Curtain._