^'^^-. 
 
 ^v '-^ o;k/^^\k/ «,- V 
 
 
 
 
 
 /-:^> 
 
 'bv' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The 
 
 Bishop* s Move 
 
 A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 
 By 
 
 John Oliver Hobbes 
 
 and 
 
 Murray Carson 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 i902 
 
ftl'^ 
 
 
 IE LISRARV OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 Two Copii-ii RucE'.vEO 
 
 i\m. & 1002 
 
 COPVBIQHT ENTRY 
 
 C^,ftSS /S- XXn. No 
 I COPY B. 
 
 Copyright, 1902, bv 
 PEARL MARY TERESA CRAIGIE 
 
I 
 
 THE BISHOP'S MOVE. 
 
 "The potential complement of the Bishop is eight 
 and three fourths," Minor Tactics. 
 
 CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY. 
 
 AMBROSE, Bishop of Ranee 
 
 FRANCIS HERICOURT, His nephew ...; 
 
 MONSIGNOR CAMPDEN 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF QUENTEN 
 
 MRS. HERICOURT, Sister to the Bishop 
 
 BARBARA ARRETON 
 
 BROTHER HILARY 
 
 HOUSEKEEPER, At the Chateau de Ranee 
 
 MUSICIAN 
 
 Printers, lay Brothers, servants. 
 
 ACT I. SCENE— Refectory of the Abbey of Veyle, 
 near Dinan. 
 
 Three weeks pass. 
 ACT II. SCENE— The Drawing room of the Chat- 
 eau de Ranee. 
 
 One night passes. 
 ACT III. SCENE— The morning room at the Chat- 
 eau de Ranee. 
 
ACT I. 
 
 SCENE:— The Refectory of the Abbey of 
 Veyle, near Dinan in Brittany. A printing 
 press is set along the walls. There is a 
 writing table with papers on it and a large 
 pewter ink-pot. The pulpit overlooking the 
 refectory must be in a conspicuous position. 
 The windows above the printing press are 
 mullioned, one is broken and covered with 
 canvas, which must also be visible to the 
 audience. There is a small side door leading 
 into another room and two large double 
 doors at the back. There are no other exits. 
 Before the curtain rises the Brothers are 
 heard chanting, they continue for a moment 
 or two after the curtain has risen. When 
 they cease, a bell rings and the workmen 
 seated at the printing press rise and go out. 
 Monsignor Campden is seated at the table 
 writing. 
 
 Francis Hericourt in the dress of a seminar- 
 ist, is pacing up and down. 
 FRANCIS— They seem ready for their dinner. (L. 
 
 C.) 
 MONSIG:— The Bishop gives them such excellent 
 meals, that every peasant in the district will 
 soon turn printer. But his lordship will not see 
 that they are eating up more than the profits. 
 FRANCIS— Probably he makes their work an excuse 
 for feeding them during the slack months. He 
 must know that it doesn't pay. 
 MONSIG :— There is very little that your uncle does 
 not observe ! Although tinkering is his hobby, 
 
6 
 
 he is even clever enough to know that he cannot 
 mend watches ! There are three returned this 
 morning, and a lock, and as for the printing — 
 
 FKANCIS — But then it amuses him. ( Goes to table 
 E.G.) I often wish I had some peaceful simple 
 hobby like this, which would bring me content- 
 ment. (Sighs) And yet, it's rather dull being 
 contented. 
 
 MONSIG: — (Looking at him) It is not a common 
 form of dullness, at any rate. 
 
 FEANCIS — It's an awful thing when a fellow wants 
 to be noble — and then, it is a certain handicap 
 (Brother Hilary enters with some letters 
 which he places on the table) 
 to have such a fine man as uncle in the familj'-. 
 You keep feeling that you are falling below the 
 standard. (Goes L. ) 
 
 MONSIG:— Wliat does the post mean at this hour? 
 
 HILARY — There has been a special train from Paris, 
 Monsignor, and this mail was brought piivately 
 through the kindness of the Duchess of Quenten. 
 
 FEANCIS— ( starting slightly ) Whom did you say? 
 (comes to C.) 
 
 HILARY— The Duchess of Quenten. (Long pause) 
 ( Brother Hilary goes out ) ( Francis pacing 
 up and down L. Type Bus : ) 
 
 MONSIG :— I wonder what brings her to this part of 
 the world. But she is an impulsive creature, and, 
 as she is always uncertain, it is a mercy that she 
 has the means to take a special train whenever 
 she requires change of air. (Throwing down 
 type) You are very restless this morning, Fran- 
 cis. You are not much like your uncle. 
 
 FRANCIS— ( Advances to C. ) How could I be like a 
 bishop at my age? 
 
 MONSIG:— You might be like a budding Bishop! 
 
 FRANCIS— I often wonder what my uncle was at 
 three and twenty. Do you suppose he always 
 knew that his vocation was really for the 
 Church? 
 
MONSIG:— Surely you find him sympathetic? 
 FRANCIS — Yes, that is the strange thing; he is so 
 awfully good and yet he understands everybody. 
 Sometimes, I think it may be because he had a 
 French father and an English mother. 
 MONSIG:— I don't follow your argument, my boy. 
 FRANCIS— Well, he seems to have a French soul and 
 an English heart. In a way, I dread the talk I 
 am to have with him this morning. You see it 
 will be decisive. I have got to say what I mean 
 to do with my life. 
 MONSIG: — Perhaps he will help you to decide. 
 FRANCIS— Yes, but when you have to be helped to 
 decide a thing it is always something you don't 
 want to do. 
 
 ( Brother Hilary comes in hurriedly, through 
 small door) 
 HILARY— His lordship is coming. (Closes small 
 
 door and opens double doors) 
 MONSIG:— It is almost amusing! His lordship 
 knows just how long it takes him to get from 
 one room to another. He will time himself ex- 
 actly and never lose a minute. 
 FRANCIS— (Down L.C.) Oh, I do wish I were not 
 
 so nervous ! 
 MONSIG: — (Rises) My dear boy, he will lead you 
 along without your suspecting it. I don't know 
 a man on earth who can be so delightful with 
 young people as your uncle. He has kept that 
 freshness of feeling which is rare enough in youth 
 nowadays. 
 
 (Brother Hilary opens the double doors at 
 the back of the stage. The cloisters can be 
 seen beyond, down which the Bishop is slowly 
 pacing. The cloisters are overgrown with 
 rose vines and flooded with sunlight. A little 
 grass plot is in the square formed by the 
 cloisters. The Bishop is in his purple cassock 
 and wears a biretta. He enters slowly, carry- 
 ing an open book and repeating his office in 
 
8 
 
 a low tone. He advances quietly down the 
 
 stage and does not close his book till he 
 
 finds himself facing Francis. 
 
 Hilary goes out, closing the double doors 
 
 behind him. As Bishop enters Monsig : drops 
 
 down R. ) 
 BISHOP— It is a most extraordinary thing, but 
 although I have a good many reasons to feel 
 anxious about the roof, and the new aisles, I 
 have the feeling that we shall get the money and 
 the poor Brothers will be in beautiful quarters 
 before Christmas. I had that feeling — it came to 
 me five minutes ago. I cannot get rid of it. I 
 waved it aside as a fancy— an over-sanguine 
 fancy — yet, it remains. 
 FEAN CIS— (Going forward and kissing the ring 
 respectf uU}^ ) That roof has been a great trouble 
 to you, uncle. 
 BISHOP — Well, you see, we have tried a couple of 
 bazaars — they did— 
 
 ( Monsig : coughs ) 
 pretty well. But the expenses were enormous. I 
 forget what we made altogether, but I know it 
 did not come anywhere near the roof. Then we 
 put this little printing press, (looks round the 
 room) and it seemed such a good way of en- 
 couraging the purchase of useful literature and 
 paying off the builder — There again we had 
 encouragement. 
 
 (He turns to Monsignor Campden) 
 MONSIG:— And then the fresco. 
 BISHOP— Ah, I mustn't forget the fresco. We dis- 
 covered it a year ago at the back of the pulpit. 
 (Points up) Some people think it is a genuine 
 Da Yinci. "The Temptation of St. Anthony" 
 ( Curtain Bus : ) St. Anthony, I regret to say, 
 has been sadly effaced by time, but the Tempta- 
 tion is clear (Standing C. by table), very clear. 
 No doubt this interesting work of art has at- 
 tracted many visitors. We don't make any 
 
9 
 
 charge, but we expect them to buy a little book, 
 or one of these medals which we have had struck 
 off. 
 
 (He lifts up some from a tray) 
 Who was it made a good suggestion the other 
 day about liqueurs — a local liqueur? But what 
 we want more than anything else is a miracle. 
 (Sees the watches on the table) But dear me, 
 what are these watches? 
 
 MONSIG : — (Trying to keep serious — in front of 
 table.) They don't seem to be keeping satis- 
 factory time, my lord. 
 
 BISHOP — How is that? I pulled them all to pieces 
 with the greatest care, and readjusted them. 
 What a strange thing ! I assure you, if I tested 
 that mainspring once, I tested it twenty times to 
 make sure it was all right. It will end in my 
 getting a new one. 
 
 ( Monsig : moves away ) 
 This belongs to the poor old Mere Druet, doesn't 
 it? 
 
 MONSIG : — ( Comes up to table again) Ah, my 
 lord, I always know when you undertake to 
 mend the mainsprings that it means a certain 
 loss to the treasury of 
 
 BISHOP— (Interrupting) It's never more than 
 seventy francs. ( Anxious to change the subject ) 
 What is that— the post? 
 
 MONSIG: — Yes, my lord, it was brought down by 
 someone who left Paris by a special train. 
 
 BISHOP— Uncommonly obliging. Anything of im- 
 portance? 
 
 MONSIG: — I have not looked at it yet, my lord. I 
 was just about to do so. 
 
 BISHOP — Well, well, take them to my room, while 
 Francis and I have a little chat. 
 
 ( Monsig : Campden takes up the packet and 
 goes out of the room, door B., leaving the 
 Bishop and his nephew alone. The boy looks 
 embarrassed, goes round to R. at back. 
 
10 
 
 The Bishop tries to appear entirely at ease 
 but it is plain to the audience that he is 
 anxious about the boy) 
 
 BISHOP— (Looking- up at window mended with can- 
 vas) I want your advice, Francis. 
 
 FRANCIS— (Starting) Mine? 
 
 BISHOP— Yes, when I have the money to mend that 
 window, I am going to have coloured glass. 
 Now what color would you choose? (At table) 
 
 FRANCIS— (At once) Blue. A lovely turquoise 
 blue — or rather, a blue that is more — sapphire 
 than turquoise — (He looks intently into the 
 distance ) 
 
 BISHOP— (thoughtfully) Ah, a sort of sapphire, 
 turquoise blue. Is that your favourite colour? 
 
 FRANCIS— (Seh-consciously) Oh no, it was the 
 first I thought of. 
 
 BISHOP— (Rubbing his chin) Hum. My mother, I 
 remember, had blue eyes, very beautiful calm 
 blue eyes. 
 
 FRANCIS— (Ingenuously) I think those are the 
 most beautiful kind to have. 
 
 BISHOP — (Looking at him carefully) Yes, no 
 doubt. (Sits) Well now, my boy, how does 
 this place strike you? You have been with 
 Father Helyot three weeks. I have carefully 
 avoided you, because I thought that better. I 
 wanted you to learn your own heart without 
 any interference from older people. Your mother 
 hasn't written to you and she hasn't been once 
 to see you, I hope? 
 
 FRANCIS— No, I have been entirely by myself. (R. 
 below table) 
 
 BISHOP— I am glad she kept her word. It must 
 have been a temptation for her when she was so 
 near. Now, what conclusion have you come to? 
 
 FRANCIS— Well, I don't seem to know what I want. 
 ( Crosses L. ) I was very happy at the monas- 
 tery — in fact I was happier each day than the 
 one before. 
 
11 
 
 BISHOP— Getting near the end of your time, eh? 
 FRANCIS— Well, the last days were certainly pleas- 
 
 anter than the early ones. It is a little shut in. 
 (Looks round the walls apprehensively) 
 BISHOP — The idea came to you sometimes that you 
 
 would like to see what was going on outside? 
 
 You remembered Paris, the parties, the com- 
 panions of your own age? 
 FRANCIS— Yes. (Goes to Bishop C.) 
 BISHOP — You have not told me whom you met in 
 
 Paris besides your mother and her friends, 
 FRANCIS — Well, there were some of the fellows from 
 
 Beaumont. Some of them had sisters. 
 BISHOP— ( Apparently not interested ) Naturally. 
 FRANCIS — And there was Barbara of course. 
 BISHOP— Barbara who? 
 FRANCIS— Barbara Arreton. 
 BISHOP — Ah yes — (Rises — crosses to printing press. 
 
 Francis crosses below table at same time) a nice 
 
 girl, I believe. 
 FRAN CIS— ( Heartily ) Very nice. 
 BISHOP — (Unconcerned, turning over printing) Is 
 
 she at all like her father, Colonel Arreton, the 
 
 regular Saxon type? 
 FRANCIS— No, she is dark— sort of gypsy. 
 BISHOP — Ah, indeed— and any one else? 
 FRANCIS— Well, we used to see a good deal of the 
 
 Duchess of Quenten. 
 BISHOP— (Lifting his eyebrows) To be sure— She 
 
 has been a widow now for five years. 
 FRANCIS— Now she is a saxon type, if you 
 
 like. 
 BISHOP— (Carelessly) Golden hair and blue eyes, 
 
 you mean? 
 
 (His eye wanders toward the window that 
 has to be mended) 
 FRANCIS— Although she has lived so much in 
 
 France and married a Frenchman, she is as 
 
 English as I am, and you can be when you 
 
 choose. ( Moves to C. ) 
 
12 
 
 BISHOP — No doubt she was very kind to all of you. 
 
 (to L. of Francis, brings type) 
 FRANCIS— Yes, she was. 
 
 (There is a little pause) 
 BISHOP — Well, I am a little nervous, do you know, 
 (Crosses R. ) about my post. I will just go in 
 and speak to Campden a minute. So you want 
 a sapphire-blue window — 
 
 (He goes out and Francis is left looking 
 after him) 
 FRANCIS — I always wonder how much he knows. 
 (Remains by L. of table, looks up at window) 
 He is so easy to talk to and yet — 
 
 ( He takes up the office book from the table 
 and, looking at the fly-leaf reads) 
 Ambrose Philip Rias, 1865. Wliy, he has had 
 this ever since he was my age (Puts down book) 
 but we are not all born alike I'll — (crosses L. ) 
 just see where my thumb comes — (Comes back 
 and takes up book. He opens the book at ran- 
 dom) Oh! (reads) "Thy wife shall be as a 
 fruitful vine on the sides of thine house; Thy 
 children like olive plants round about thy table." 
 I say — that's a sign, of course ! I can't be happy 
 here ! ( Crosses L. ) 
 
 (He puts the book down and walks away, 
 then returns evidently with the intention of 
 trying again, when at that moment the 
 Duchess of Quenten appears in the pulpit in 
 the wall, up R. ) 
 DUCHESS— (as though she were preaching) Oh, 
 
 my brother — 
 FRANCIS— ( starting ) Duchess ! 
 DUCHESS— (Continuing) Oh, my brother, I want 
 to impress upon you that the world has nothing 
 to offer which can compare with the peace and 
 beauty of this scene. I want you — 
 FRANCIS— Oh, you mustn't. You mustn't make 
 
 fun. How did you get there? 
 DUCHESS — (Laughing) Is this a respectful way to 
 
13 
 
 address a saint? Fancy asking a saint how she 
 got there ! 
 
 FRANCIS— You mustn't! That hasn't been used 
 for years. 
 
 DUCHESS— It is a fancy of mine. I want to pre- 
 tend that this is a balcony and that you are a 
 very young, extremely handsome — we are only 
 pretending, mind — romantic and high-spirited, 
 reckless — I don't know any more words, but that 
 is what you are, and now you are to tell me 
 what I am. 
 
 FRANCIS — I think that you ought to come down, 
 (goes right up to balcony) 
 
 DUCHESS— I will come down in a minute. You 
 don't seem at all pleased to see me. 
 
 FRANCIS— I dare not believe that it is true. (Be- 
 low balcony. ) 
 
 DUCHESS— Well, I heard that your mother had sent 
 you away with Father Helyot for a long retreat. 
 She thought it would be good for you, and I 
 heard that when the three weeks were over you 
 were to decide on your choice of a vocation. I 
 said to myself, "I think I will help him to de- 
 cide." The good Bishop is the greatest help, no 
 doubt, but bishops have principles, whereas 
 women have instincts ! I took the trouble to 
 come all this way to see an extremely un- 
 grateful, very depressed, rather pompous little 
 boy. 
 
 FRANCIS— You don't seem real up there. I want 
 you to come down. 
 
 DUCHESS — Where is your uncle? I worship your 
 uncle. 
 
 FRANCIS— He will be back in a minute. 
 
 DUCHESS— (Hastily) Then I will come down. 
 
 ( She disappears from the pulpit and Francis 
 takes up the pewter inkstand and tries to see 
 his hair in it. He walks towards the door of 
 the inner room to see if it is quite closed, 
 then goes to meet the Duchess as she enters 
 
14 
 
 C. She gives him her hand which he kisses 
 and keeps. They come down C. ) 
 
 FRANCIS— You are an angel ! 
 
 DUCHESS— I was only a saint before; evidently I 
 am on promotion. 
 
 FRANCIS— No, no— don't laugh. I am serious. I 
 cannot believe you came all this way because 
 you knew I was wretched. 
 
 DUCHESS — Have you been wretched? Let me look 
 at you. ( She peers into his face. ) Why, so you 
 are ! You look too good to live ! It is un- 
 natural. Oh, Francis, I was so lonely after you 
 left Paris. I went out to three different things 
 every night. I danced till two in the morning. 
 I knew I could have a good rest during Lent. I 
 went to all the theatres — yes, and I attended 
 a lot of lectures— lectures on all sorts of things 
 but I kept thinking of you. 
 
 FRANCIS— You pity me, that is all. 
 
 DUCHESS— But it is so interesting to have some- 
 body to pity, and I pitied you so much that my 
 complexion literally went. (She takes him by 
 the arm, which fills him with embarrassment, 
 and paces the stage with him in a half maternal 
 and confidential manner ) My maid said it was 
 the result of late hours, but I knew it was sym- 
 pathy, and here I am ! I want you to tell me 
 all you have been through. 
 
 FRANCIS — I cannot remember anything; I feel a 
 perfect fool. I want simply to stand here and 
 look at you. (in front of table) 
 
 DUCHESS — I suppose you haven't seen a,ny woman 
 at all for ages. (C. ) 
 
 FRANCIS— If I had it wouldn't have made any dif- 
 ference. I have had one face always before me — 
 any others I think would have been in the 
 way. 
 
 DUCHESS-( Thoughtfully) I don't think you 
 would have said that in Paris. On the whole I 
 am in favour of long meditations. I believe they 
 
15 
 
 are very wholesome. ( Takes his arm, goes L. ) 
 They make one appreciate one's friends. 
 
 FRANCIS— (With feehng) But I am in earnest. I 
 know now where my vocation is. I didn't know 
 when I was talking to my uncle. 
 
 DUCHESS— Yes, I thought I could do better than 
 the Bishop ! Francis — may I call you Francis ? 
 I want you to call me Alice. 
 
 FRANCIS— That sounds so familiar. But it is my 
 favourite name. 
 
 DUCHESS— (thoughtfully) And how will you re- 
 gard me? As a sister — (pause) (he clears his 
 throat ) as a friend — ( he sighs heavily ) No ! I 
 think I'll just be Alice. 
 
 FRANCIS— I've only got one fear. I know I shall 
 bore you, when you know me better. 
 
 DUCHESS-Oh, never! 
 
 FRANCIS— I wish I could feel perfectly sure of that. 
 ( standing L. ) 
 
 DUCHESS— (earnestly) You must believe it. You 
 must believe it, dear. You see, I have had a lot 
 of trouble in my life — not the sort of trouble 
 which people see and understand, but the kind 
 which they do not see and can never under- 
 stand. 
 
 FRANCIS— Was it to do with love? 
 
 DUCHESS— No— (looking at him ) not love. Wliy is 
 it that if a woman speaks of trouble she is sup- 
 posed to mean love, and when a man speaks of 
 trouble he means something about money? 
 
 FRANCIS— Then what was your trouble? (sud- 
 denly) Ah, it was the loss of your husband ! 
 
 DUCHESS— (Drily) I wish I could say so. But we 
 were intimate strangers, he and I. I knew that 
 he cared for nothing except copper mines, and he 
 thought I cared for nothing at all ! He could 
 not see that I dared not care, that I had been 
 taught to see that there was only danger— for 
 me— in caring. I was a live creature shut up in 
 a mummy case (lowering her voice) I need not 
 
16 
 
 be in the case any more. I may come out now. 
 I think I will. 
 FEAN CIS— (Naively) I feel a sort of tortoise my- 
 self. (Looks around the walls) How I wish 
 we could be quite alone together in some 
 star — I could talk then and tell you — 
 DUCHESS— Now tell me all about— 
 
 ( At this moment Monsignor Campden enters 
 and stands aghast in the doorway with his 
 hands up. Francis is very much embar- 
 rassed, while the Duchess remains unmoved 
 and holds him firmly by the arm) 
 Ah, Monsignor Campden, didn't they tell 
 you I was here? 
 MONSIG: — (advancing) No, I did hear that you 
 had come by a special train from Paris, but who 
 let you in? 
 DUCHESS— Well, to tell the truth, I came for some 
 news of this boy. I never hoped to see him here. 
 I understood he was with Father Helyot still. 
 But, while I was waiting to see you or the 
 Bishop I went to have a look at the Fresco. I 
 peeped over that little pulpit — and lo and be- 
 hold ! there stood the iDoy. And how is the 
 Bishop? 
 MONSIG : — ( drily ) His lordship will be delighted to 
 
 see you. 
 DUCHESS-H'm ! 
 
 MONSIG:— He is detained for a moment with the 
 builder. I am sure you won't mind if he keeps 
 you waiting a little. 
 DUCHESS-Is it still the roof? 
 MONSIG : —Yes, perhaps you would like to see it. 
 DUCHESS— (expectantly) Eh? 
 MONSIG:— Or rather where it ought to be? 
 DUCHESS— I should be delighted. Come along, 
 Francis. 
 
 (As they are leaving the room, Brother 
 Martin enters with Mrs. Hericourt and Bar- 
 
17 
 
 bara Arreton. He shows them in and goes 
 out. Mrs. Hericourt is an aristocratic 
 woman of simple manners and should mould 
 herself a little on the Bishop's pattern, in 
 order to show some family resemblance. She 
 must, above all, avoid the traditional stage 
 accent of the stage dowager. Barbara Arre- 
 ton must be a very pretty girl with delicate 
 features and an air of common sense. She 
 must be perfectly free of affectation and the 
 usual tricks of the ingenye) 
 FRANCIS— Mother ! Barbara ! 
 MRS. H: — (aghast) My dear Duchess! 
 DUCHESS— Dearest Mrs. Hericourt ! I was just go- 
 ing to see you. Do you like your hotel? 
 MRS. H: — (melting a little) I don't think it would 
 suit you ! One of your boxes, my dear, would 
 fill two of the rooms. When did you 
 arrive? 
 DUCHESS— I had to have a special — a nasty dirty 
 old special ! But I had made up my mind to be 
 here to-day. I have taken a chateau in the 
 neighbourhood— a beautiful old place with ghosts 
 and electric light and bath rooms. You have all 
 got to come over, everyone of you, every- 
 one ! 
 
 MRS. H:— But really 
 
 DUCHESS— I insist. You and Barbara— Barbara 
 
 will love it — and Francis, of course. 
 FRANCIS— (Who has been looking at Barbara dur- 
 ing the foregoing speech) No — no! (he walks 
 away a little) 
 DUCHESS— (disappointed) No? But you must 
 come. You can have a study with a lovely view 
 over the river : no one shall disturb you. 
 FRANCIS— (Firmly) No. 
 DUCHESS— (Puzzled, then breaks into a smile and 
 
 turns to Mrs. H : ) Isn't he moody? 
 MONSIG:— Will you come now and see the roof be- 
 fore the Bishop comes back? 
 2 
 
18 
 
 DUCHESS— Oh yes, the roof. (She waits to see if 
 Francis is coming) 
 
 MONSIG: — ( Noticing his hesitation) You had bet- 
 ter come, Frank, because it is rather rough 
 walking, and we may have to move some of the 
 planks. 
 
 ( They go out, and Mrs. H : and Barbara 
 look at each other) 
 
 MRS. H: — (Looking after the Duchess) What a 
 fascinating creature ! I get angry every time I 
 think of her, and the moment I see her I am as 
 limp as a rag. She can twist anybody round her 
 little finger. 
 
 BARBARA — I suppose she can. 
 
 MRS. H : — ( In a warning tone) She couldn't do it, 
 mind you, unless she were good. There are 
 women who can twist certain people round their 
 fingers, but when you find one who can manage 
 saints and sinners alike, she must be good. It is 
 very brilliant goodness, I admit, but it is irre- 
 sistible — I wish all the same she was not so 
 brilliant with poor Francis. 
 
 BARBARA— He can't help being flattered. She is so 
 charming, and then— her position. 
 
 MRS. H : — But she won't have a penny of money if 
 she marries again. You know her husband was 
 not a martyr, but a Tartar ! The day she mar- 
 ries again, her whole fortune goes to the Church. 
 Some ridiculous fraction— two or three hundred a 
 year — will save her from absolute penury. 
 
 BARBARA— Then if it all goes to the Church, the 
 Church will be very eager for her to marry 
 again. 
 
 MRS. H:— Eager is not the word, my dear child, 
 desirous is the proper expression ! 
 
 ( At this moment the builder opens the door 
 and looks in from the inner room) 
 
 BUILDER— Yes, my lord, there are two ladies here. 
 (He withdraws) 
 
 BISHOP— (within) Is that you, Catherine? 
 
19 
 
 MRS. H:— Yes, dear Ambrose, but don't let us 
 hurry you in any way. 
 
 (The Bishop comes in with a green baize 
 apron over his cassock and his sleeves rolled 
 back a little from the wrist. One hand is 
 covered with printers' ink) 
 
 BISHOP— My dear, I am hard at work, you see. I 
 am trying to set some type. It is the story of 
 Balaam, and I want to encourage the natives 
 here in this little industry. I leave the door 
 open and they see me toiling aw^ay at my task. 
 Well, how are you? I can work here while I am 
 talking, in fact— but who is this? (Looks at 
 Barbara) 
 
 MRS. H : — It is Barbara Arreton. 
 
 (Barbara bows and kisses his ring) 
 
 BISHOP — So it is ! How she has grown up ! 
 (Looking at his sister) I can see she is sur- 
 prised that I speak English so well. But you see 
 my mother was English and I lived in England 
 until I was twenty. Your father and I have had 
 many a game of cricket together in old days. 
 
 MRS. H:— Could any of the lay Brothers show her 
 some of the ruins while we have a short talk. 
 
 BISHOP— Certainly, certainly! (calls) Brother 
 Hilary ! 
 
 (Brother Hilary comes in) 
 Will you show Miss Arreton the Abbey? 
 (The Brother and Barbara go out) 
 The fact is, Catherine, I have been greatly de- 
 lighted by a piece of news. 
 
 MRS. H:-What news? 
 
 BISHOP— The most amazing thing, I have had 
 cruel moments of anxiety as you know, about 
 the roof and the restorations generally. I want 
 the old ruin to blossom like the rose— that is my 
 dream. 
 
 MRS. H:-Yes, yes. 
 
 BISHOP— Well, all this morning I had a lighter feel- 
 ing on the subject. I was only saying to Camp- 
 
20 
 
 den that I felt something unusual in the air. 
 My dear, by a strange coincidence, a letter has 
 come from Paris telling me that beyond any 
 question the Duchess of Quenten has made up 
 her mind at last to re-marry. Just think what 
 that means to the diocese — little less than her 
 whole fortune ! 
 
 MRS. H: — Re-marry — but whom? 
 
 BISHOP — Ah, there my informant is mysteriously 
 silent, but he says — although she has refused 
 every offer with such decision that most of us 
 had come to believe that she would remain a 
 widow to the end of her days — he says she has 
 practically announced to my correspondent her 
 intention of re-marrying. Oh, the relief of this 
 unexpected windfall ! But I must talk of your 
 affairs. I suppose you want to know about the 
 boy? 
 
 MRS. 'H : — Yes, I do. Has he been able to come to 
 any sort of decision about his future career? I 
 should be happy, of course, if he chose the 
 Church, but in the event — 
 
 BISHOP — I sounded him this morning. A more 
 charming boy never lived nor a better one I 
 feel sure — (he hesitates) — but — 
 
 MRS. H:— It is quite as I thought. Well, you saw 
 Barbara Arreton, what do you think of her? 
 
 BISHOP— I scarcely saw her. 
 
 MRS. H : — Well, she is my ideal wife for Francis. 
 
 BISHOP — Ah, 3^ou are a true woman, Catherine ! 
 You come to know what he has chosen, and you 
 bring his future wife in your pocket ! 
 
 MRS. H : — Surely, Ambrose, you must see that two 
 Christians are better than one, especially as life 
 goes at present. I think we need more Christian 
 families in the Church. 
 
 BISHOP — Oh, I don't say you are wrong. I merely 
 point out that you make your prophecies come 
 ot pass by strictly legitimate means ! 
 
 MRS. H : — Although I may sound worldly, you will 
 
21 
 
 believe me when I say that I am convinced of the 
 great affection which existed between these young 
 people. 
 
 BISHOP— Then why did you send him here? 
 
 MRS. H:— Well, it was to get him away from the 
 Diiolipss 
 
 BISHOP— The blue-eyed Duchess ! 
 
 MRS. H: — Yes, she turned his head. A very easy 
 thing to do with a boy. 
 
 BISHOP— Hum, but she is a good creature and an 
 excellent woman. 
 
 MRS. H: — Just so, but she was amusing herself at 
 the boy's expense. Is it likely that she could 
 care for him in any serious way? Now, Barbara 
 would be his devoted slave. 
 
 BISHOP— And yet you are one of those, Catherine, 
 who clamour for Woman's Suffrage and her 
 rights ! You recommend your future daughter- 
 in-law on the ground that she would be a slave ! 
 
 MRS. H : —I am thinking of my son's happiness, and 
 no man is happy unless his wife is a slave. 
 
 BISHOP — That sounds like a quotation from one of 
 my Wednesday afternoon addresses. It is very 
 seldom a man, a man of ideas, has the privilege 
 of influencing his own family ! 
 
 MRS. H : —But what is more important than all is 
 Frank's devotion to Barbara. 
 
 IBISHOP— (In mock earnest) Wliat about this de- 
 votion to the Duchess? You have sent me a 
 promising novice, I must say ! It is too bad, 
 really ! 
 
 )MRS. H: — His interest in the Duchess is a passing 
 
 , caprice. 
 
 IBISHOP— I must see them together. 
 
 i^MRS. H : —Well, that won't be difficult. The Duchess 
 is here now in this very place. 
 
 IBISHOP- And they never told me ! That is very 
 wrong. Catherine, she is one of my favourites, 
 I have watched her career with positive admira- 
 tion. I admit she is not lugubrious; I myself 
 
22 
 
 distrust lugubrious widows ! She is bright, ani- 
 mated, joyous — what could be more natural at 
 her age? (suddenly) Why, the idea strikes me, 
 could it be— can it be that Francis has captured 
 her heart — that he is the young man for whom 
 she is willing to sacrifice a large fortune. 
 
 MRS. H : —Sincerely, I hope not. 
 
 BISHOP — It doesn't seem suitable, although I see 
 nothing against it, except a trifling difference in 
 ages. She can't be more than three years older 
 than Francis. 
 
 MRS. H:— Oh, my dear, are they suitable in any 
 way? Imagine that woman of the world with 
 Francis ! 
 
 BISHOP— (Troubled) He is not half good enough 
 for her — Don't be hurt, Catherine. I don't mean 
 good in the moral sense, but the man I have 
 always pictured for her was of a remarkable 
 type. 
 
 MRS. H:— Just so, and I have always been so 
 thankful that dear Francis is not remark- 
 able. 
 
 BISHOP— But if she loves him, I couldn't be ex- 
 pected to discourage it. 
 
 MRS. H:— But I tell you, there is Barbara. 
 
 BISHOP— Oh, how I detest these love complications ! 
 I must judge for myself. 
 
 (The Duchess's laughter is heard outside) 
 
 BISHOP— Ah, here she comes ! I do hope there will 
 be laughter in Heaven ! Wliat is it but a form of 
 rejoicing? 
 
 (The Duchess enters followed by Francis, 
 Barbara and Monsig : Campden. The Duch- 
 ess advances and kneeling, kisses the Bish- 
 op's ring) 
 Well, my child, my dear and good Duchess, I am 
 very pleased to see you, very pleased. 
 
 DUCHESS— (Still kneeling and holding up her hands 
 as if making a petition ) I am like most people 
 when they pray ; I ask a blessing, but I want a 
 
23 
 
 favour. You may regard me, if you please, as a 
 humble follower of the importunate widow. 
 
 BISHOP— Well, my child, what is it? 
 
 DUCHESS — I want you to come and bring good 
 luck to the Chateau I have taken in this neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 BISHOP — But, of course, I will come — you know I 
 have not much time — j^et for a day or two — 
 
 DUCHESS — And Mrs. Hericourt is to come, and 
 Barbara and Francis. 
 
 BISHOP— (Looking at the three) I don't know 
 about Francis; he must decide for himself. 
 (He helps Duchess to rise) 
 
 FRANCIS — (embarrassed) It is very kind of you, 
 but I feel I ought to settle down to work. 
 
 BARBARA— (Going up to him quietly) Oh, do 
 come ! You look tired, no, do come. 
 
 BISHOP — ( Turning to the Duchess after looking at 
 the boy ) I think we may say that Francis will 
 come. 
 
 ( Barbara and Francis move a little away to 
 the back of the stage. Monsig : Campden 
 and Mrs. Hericourt walk away together talk- 
 ing. The Duchess and the Bishop are left 
 looking at each other) 
 
 DUCHESS — Why does your lordship look at me so 
 curiously? I have no secrets. 
 
 BISHOP — Does not that assurance, which ought to 
 be unnecessary, come from a disquieted con- 
 science, which I am sure could never be in the 
 wrong? You have been very kind to my nephew. 
 
 DUCHESS— Did he tell you so? 
 
 BISHOP— Yes. 
 
 DUCHESS — Do you think he was born to be an 
 ecclesiastic? 
 
 BISHOP— I don't know 3^et. 
 
 DUCHESS — I am sure he was not. 
 
 BISHOP — You see, my mind works more slowly than 
 3"ours — I have to observe and consider — 
 
 DUCHESS— Well, what have you observed so far? 
 
24 
 
 BISHOP — Well, so far, I see nothing except a young 
 man — a young girl — and one of the most charm- 
 ing women in France ! 
 
 DUCHESS-Anything else? 
 
 BISHOP — Yes, on the other hand, there is a great 
 vocation — 
 
 DUCHESS— (quickly) But a lonely life! 
 
 BISHOP — (looking round the room with a smile and 
 waving towards the printing press) Do you 
 think one could be lonely when there is so much 
 work to be done? 
 
 DUCHESS— (clasping her hands) Oh, Francis is 
 not for you, he is for the world ! He is good, 
 but he is for the world. Can't you see that in 
 his face? 
 
 (At this moment the Duchess looks round 
 and sees that Francis is looking earnestly at 
 Barbara. The Duchess bites her lip) 
 
 BISHOP — (repeating) As I have told you, I can 
 only see a young man — a young girl, and per- 
 haps, the most charming woman in France ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT. 
 
25 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE :— The Drawing-room of the Chateau 
 de Ranee. A handsome apartment with win- 
 dows opening on to a terrace with a belvedere 
 at the back of the stage. One door only at 
 the side : a large organ is built into the 
 other side of the room. There must be the 
 air of an old place slightly modernized. A 
 gardener is standing on a ladder, which is 
 held by a small boy, hanging up festoons of 
 flowers. A Housekeeper stands near him 
 giving directions and help. Four men with 
 stringed instruments are at the back. Bar- 
 bara and Francis are playing chess at a card 
 table near the front. As the curtain rises, 
 the musicians play the concluding bars oi 
 some popular air. 
 FRANCIS— (to the Musicians, who rise) Quelle jolie 
 
 piece ! Merci beaucoup. C'etait charmante ! 
 MUSIC— Nous esperons que Madame la Duchesse 
 
 sera contente avec nos humbles efforts. 
 BARBARA— Enchantee, j'en suis sur. 
 
 (The Musicians bow% and the Housekeeper 
 comes down) 
 HOUSE:— Do you think the flowers will do. Miss, 
 like that? I don't care for the French taste my- 
 self, but her Grace always likes to please the 
 common people when she has them in. They 
 like everything gaudy. 
 BARBARA— I think it looks charming, but won't 
 
 they wither before to-morrow? 
 HOUSE:— Oh, no, Miss, the French are artful, their 
 flowers are made of paper and cotton. They will 
 introduce a few real roses here and there just be- 
 fore the entertainment begins. I suppose I must 
 go and give these good men some refreshment. 
 
26 
 
 (grandly, turning to the men) Voyong, par 
 
 ici ! 
 
 (Housekeeper goes out, followed by the Musi- 
 cians, but the gardener continues his work at 
 the back while Barbara and Francis talk) 
 FRANCIS — It was not so bad. Now— is it your 
 
 move? 
 BARBARA — You are not paying much attention to 
 
 the game, Francis. 
 FRANCIS— I am not thinking of the game. I was 
 
 killing time. I wish that man would go away. 
 
 We never get any chance to talk alone. 
 BARBARA— I often wonder what we should say if we 
 
 were by ourselves. 
 
 (The Gardener gets down from the ladder 
 and he and the boy go further back, out of 
 sight, evidently to fetch something, for they 
 leave the ladder and other things behind 
 them ) 
 BARBARA — (looking round) We are alone now, 
 
 Frank, if there is anything very special you 
 
 wanted to ask me. 
 FRANCIS— Have 3^ou been happy here? 
 BARBARA — (hesitating) You see it has been a 
 
 long visit, nearly three weeks, and I don't think 
 
 there is much fun ever for those who look 
 
 on. 
 FRANCIS— Wliat do you mean? 
 BARBARA — I say, I don't think it is very amusing 
 
 to watch people that one likes, talking to people 
 
 whom they like ! 
 FRANCIS— (conscience-stricken) You haven't felt 
 
 out of it, have you? 
 BARBARA — Well, what happens is this ; you are al- 
 ways with the Duchess, and I am generally with 
 
 your mother. Of course I am devoted to your 
 
 dear mother, but I daresay she gets a little 
 
 tired of me. 
 FRANCIS— You don't understand. One must pay 
 
 attention to one's hostess, particularly if there 
 
27 
 
 happens to be no other man in the party. It is 
 common courtesy. 
 
 BARBARA — Quite so, and then, when you have to 
 show common courtesy to such an uncommonly 
 beautiful person, life does not look so hard as it 
 might ! 
 
 FRANCIS— You couldn't expect me not to like her, 
 could you? You couldn't expect me not to feel 
 grateful for all her kindness? She rescued me 
 from my uncle. My uncle is a great and good 
 man, I know — 
 
 BARBARA— I tell you, I understand. I am not say- 
 ing a word. I could almost love her myself for 
 all her kindness to you. I should be hard and 
 no friend of yours, if I did not see that you were 
 very fond of each other. I can be quite fair 
 about it, indeed. If I didn't like her so much 
 myself, I don't think I could stop here, because 
 I can't help seeing — (stifles a sob) 
 
 FRANCIS— Wliy, what is the matter? 
 
 BARBARA— Nothing— nothing at all. 
 
 (The Duchess's voice is heard outside) 
 
 DUCHESS— (outside) Are they in the drawing- 
 room? 
 
 (Francis clasps his hands when they hear 
 her coming, hesitates between Barbara and 
 going to meet the Duchess. Barbara begins 
 to move the chessmen about, and the Duch- 
 ess enters. She wears a lace gown and a 
 garden hat and carries a parasol. She looks 
 in radiant health and spirits) 
 
 DUCHESS— Oh, there you are! (looks from one 
 to the other) I must have all these garlands 
 taken down. The Bishop is unavoidably de- 
 tained, and he cannot come until next week. 
 
 BARBARA— Oh, how disappointing ! 
 
 DUCHESS— (cheerfully) Yes, it is disappointing, 
 but after all, it is only a postponement. How 
 did the rehearsal go? I heard a dreadful squeak- 
 ing in the next room, but one must encourage 
 
28 
 
 local talent. The Bishop insists on that, and 
 these poor darlings have been practising hard 
 for the last three weeks in order to please him. 
 
 FRANCIS— (thoughtfully) Does he say why he 
 doesn't come? 
 
 DUCHESS— No, because I heard the news indirectly. 
 I am expecting his own letter every moment, 
 but I was out driving and met Monsignor Camp- 
 den taking his constitutional. He prepared me 
 for the disappointment. 
 
 BARBARA— Oh, how sorry I am he can't come ! 
 
 DUCHESS— (with gaiety) Well, after all, we are a 
 very happy party, and I don't care who it is 
 that joins a quartette — things are never quite 
 the same again ! There is too much bass, or too 
 much treble ! Of course, the Bishop is of all 
 guests imaginable the most perfect, so perfect, 
 that you see he might lead me to neglect the 
 others ! I should be torn this way and that. 
 Besides, you will all have to stop longer. Every- 
 thing has turned out for the best ! ( She looks 
 at Barbara) Have you two been playing chess? 
 
 BARBARA— I have been playing chess. ( The Duch- 
 ess laughs) Frank, I think, was meditating. 
 
 DUCHESS— Why was Frank absent-minded? 
 
 BARBARA — ( looking a little crest-fallen ) I am afraid 
 he was bored. 
 
 DUCHESS — Poor boy ! I am never bored ! Now, 
 what shall we do this afternoon? We had in- 
 tended to rehearse our Gavotte. Play it Bar- 
 bara. 
 
 ( Barbara goes reluctantly to piano — an old 
 fashioned one. Plays a suitable piece. Duch- 
 ess and Francis laughing do a few steps. 
 Duchess sits down) 
 But inasmuch as the rehearsal is stopped and 
 the decorations are interfered with, why shouldn't 
 we fish? Will you come fishing with me, Frank? 
 
 FRANCIS— With pleasure. 
 
 DUCHESS— (lightly) And you, Barbara, might go 
 
29 
 
 for a drive with dear Mrs. Hericourt. There is a 
 sick woman down in the village, and you may 
 have my own, my very own Russian ponies and 
 drive them yourself. You would love that, I 
 know. 
 
 FRANCIS— (conciliatory) Yes, you will love that, 
 won't you, Barbara? (to the Duchess) She is 
 a splendid whip, although you wouldn't think it 
 to look at her, she has got such little hands. 
 
 DUCHESS— Ah, I have seen her driving, or I woulda't 
 trust her with my ponies. Then that is all set- 
 tled. It is a lovely drive, quite a new direction. 
 If you start at half-past three, you can easily 
 be back by a quarter to seven. 
 
 (Barbara is about to make a reply when 
 Mrs. Hericourt enters rather suddenly) 
 
 MRS. H:— Oh, I have been looking everywhere for 
 you, my dear Alice. 
 
 DUCHESS— (innocently) Have you, darling? I 
 have made all the arrangements for this after- 
 noon. Barbara will tell you. It is so fine — I 
 grudge every minute indoors. 
 
 MRS. H:-Yes, but— 
 
 DUCHESS— (putting her hands to her ears) If I 
 talk any more I shall die ! I have been with my 
 agent for hours. I want to sit in the sun. Frank 
 and I are going fishing. 
 
 MRS. H:— Yes, but I have got— 
 
 DUCHESS— (by this time half-way out of the room) 
 Tell me at dinner. Keep all topics till dinner ! 
 (Kisses her hand to Mrs. Hericourt and 
 exits, followed by Francis) 
 
 MRS. H :— Now, in any other woman that would be 
 rude— it really would ! The fact is I was trying 
 to tell her that my brother has arrived. He 
 had no idea that he wasn't expected. 
 
 BARBARA— The Bishop arrived ! 
 
 MRS. H : —He is quite annoyed with Monsignor 
 Campden. He says he had every intention of 
 coming. Ambrose is the last man on earth to 
 
30 
 
 stand on ceremony, but he may think it rather 
 strange to find no one to receive him. 
 
 BARBARA — Oh, I am so thankful that he has come, 
 (eagerly) Shall I go after them and stop them? 
 (goes half-way across the room) 
 
 MRS. H: — No, my dear, that won't look well. I 
 
 will go myself. But what an erratic creature it is ! 
 
 ( She goes out, leaving Barbara in the centre 
 
 of the stage. The door opens and the Bishop 
 
 enters by himself) 
 
 BISHOP — (looking all round) Is nobody at home? 
 
 BARBARA — (going forward and kissing his ring) 
 Oh, my lord, we all heard that you were not 
 coming. 
 
 BISHOP— (drily) So I understand, but I got 
 through my business quicker than some of them 
 expected. It is such an art to be able to cut 
 things short! (comes down still looking about 
 him in some surprise. He sees the table with the 
 chessboard ) Ah, there seems to be a neat prob- 
 lem here. You have got your Queen in a good 
 position. 
 
 BARBARA — Not so good as the Bishop, my lord. 
 I always like the Bishop's best. 
 
 BISHOP— (pretending to be absorbed in game) 
 May I move your Knight? The Knight is so 
 uncertain, often.! — And how are you all getting 
 on here? 
 
 BARBARA — Some are getting on very well, your 
 lordship. 
 
 BISHOP— I am very glad to find you alone. We 
 must become better acquainted. I knew your 
 dear father very well. I want you to tell me 
 a few things quite frankly, not about other 
 people, not tales out of school — I just want to 
 hear something about yourself. 
 
 BARBARA — Will you be very shocked, I wonder, if 
 I say that I don't want to live? 
 
 BISHOP— (lifting his eyebrows) That is most 
 reprehensible ! 
 
31 
 
 BARBARA — I think I want to go into a convent for 
 ever. I don't like the world any more. 
 
 BISHOP— My dear child, you must not mistake 
 disgust for this world for a great anxiety to 
 reach the other. 
 
 BARBARA — Nothing comes right. 
 
 BISHOP — I think heaven will do as much for you 
 as you will do for heaven! (in a kind tone) 
 Now what is troubling you, some little quarrel? 
 
 BARBARA — Oh, there is no quarrel, there is only 
 despair ! 
 
 BISHOP — Dear me ! (putting his hand on her shoul- 
 der ) Is there anyone else concerned in this ? Is 
 there another? 
 
 BARBARA— Yes. 
 
 BISHOP— Perhaps two others? 
 
 BARBARA— Yes. (blurts out) She flirts with him— 
 she doesn't care for him — she is just amusing her- 
 self ! And when it is all over, she will forget 
 him and he may not be able to forget her. She 
 has made him give up one vocation, and what 
 will she give him in return? 
 
 BISHOP— She and he ! Now, if he means Francis, 
 and she means the Duchess — and I suppose that 
 is what you do mean — have you any reason to 
 be so much concerned about either of them? 
 Has Frank ever said anything to you? 
 
 BARBARA — He once told me he loved me. 
 
 BISHOP— Oh— I begin to understand— so he told 
 you that? 
 
 BARBARA— Yes, and he meant it, my lord, I know 
 he meant it. 
 
 BISHOP— And do you love him? 
 
 BARBARA— He knows that I do. 
 
 BISHOP— This is a great surprise to me. And when 
 did Frank tell you that he loved you? 
 
 BARBARA— In Paris, my lord. 
 
 BISHOP— And has he said anything since? 
 
 BARBARA— He has implied it. He wishes me to 
 think so, but, just as we seem to be understand- 
 
32 
 
 ing each other once more, the Duchess always 
 comes in. 
 
 BISHOP — I must warn you that she is a very dear 
 friend of mine; and much as I Hke you, I 
 am altogether prejudiced in her favour. Does 
 she know that Frank loved you — or said 
 so? 
 
 BARBARA— She must have seen it. But Frank 
 could never be so much to her as he is to me 
 my lord. He means everything to me — I don't 
 know why I have said so much — I wouldn't say 
 it even to myself, but now that you are here, I 
 feel that you understand. He means every- 
 thing to me, whereas she (she looks round the 
 room) would get tired of him in a few weeks. 
 
 BISHOP— Now, what makes jou think that? 
 Have you any right to say that her love is less 
 constant than yours? If anyone is to blame, 
 surely it is Frank. I am very sorry for you, 
 my child, but the heart of youth is in its very 
 nature fickle ! 
 
 BARBARA — Oh, my lord, if I saw that she really 
 cared for him, I could bear it all, but she does 
 not. After six months, she wouldn't know what 
 to say to him. 
 
 BISHOP— (kindly) We mustn't get hard, and we 
 mustn't be so confident in our judgments at 
 nineteen ! We must be more patient perhaps a 
 little more charitable ! But we mustn't have 
 anyone unhappy. I will look into this. If Frank 
 told you that he loved you, I believe he spoke 
 the truth — at the time, anyhow. (He takes a 
 medal hung on a little chain out of his pocket ) 
 I will look into this, but in the meantime, my 
 dear child, here is something which he lost the 
 last time he came to see me. It is one of the 
 medals we sell at the Abbey. The Temptation of 
 St. Anthony, (hands it to her) Francis has 
 scratched your name on it. 
 
 BARBARA— Oh, has he, my lord? Now, when you 
 
33 
 
 get an opportunity, but not yet, give it back to 
 him — but keep it a little. 
 
 (At this moment, the Duchess followed by 
 Francis enters) 
 
 DUCHESS — (trying to conceal her chagrin ) Oh, so 
 you have come, and I was not there, to receive 
 you ! It was not my fault. I saw Monsignor 
 Campden, he is the culprit ! But I am so glad 
 you have come. 
 
 BISHOP — Are you really glad? Your words have a 
 
 kindness which charms me, but there is just a 
 
 little something in the tone, in the glance — 
 
 ( The Duchess drops her eyes. Francis comes 
 
 f orw^ard rather sheepishly and kisses the ring. 
 
 The Bishop looks at him) 
 
 DUCHESS— It is nothing really. The fact is, I have 
 been leading an almost unreal life lately. I am 
 forgetting manners — I am forgetting how to 
 talk. I think I know what people mean when 
 they speak of being in the clouds ! 
 
 BISHOP — Are you alone in the clouds? Are there 
 no dialogues up there? And you, Francis, what 
 have you been doing in the last fortnight? I 
 thought you were coming down to see me. 
 
 FRANCIS — (rather shame-faced) Well, sir, I have 
 not been master of my time altogether — one has 
 to fall in with the plans of the day. 
 
 BISHOP — Just so. My own days, too, are very 
 crowded. 
 
 DUCHESS — You must not scold him, my lord. You 
 know there is a time to laugh and a time to 
 dance — 
 
 BISHOP— But that is not all the time ! Now, what 
 have you been doing, Barbara? Have you had 
 to fall in with plans also? 
 
 DUCHESS— (hastily) Dear little Barbara is indis- 
 pensable ! She is the angel in the house ; no one 
 was ever so clever or so kind. 
 
 BISHOP— (putting his hands up) Oh,— what flat- 
 tery ! 
 3 
 
34 
 
 DUCHESS— (impetuously) But I mean it. She 
 plays to us in the evening ; she sings for us ; she 
 drives the ponies ; she reads aloud — we take turns 
 reading aloud. 
 
 BISHOP— And when you two ladies are reading, 
 what does Frank do? 
 
 DUCHESS— Oh, he listens. 
 
 BISHOP — I see— and how long is this to go on? 
 
 DUCHESS— Now, you haven't come to scold us, 
 have you? 
 
 BISHOP— I am afraid I have. It is an ungrateful 
 task, but I begin to suspect that this does not 
 seem to be precisely a case of where — ' ' All work 
 and no play makes Jack a dull boy.' But, 
 before I forget it, Frank, I want you and Bar- 
 bara to take a message into the village for me. 
 
 DUCHESS— Frank and Barbara! But— the ser- 
 vants — 
 
 BISHOP — I wish Frank and Barbara to take it. 
 They are to go to the Hospital and say that I 
 shall hope to stop there on my way home — 
 perhaps — this evening — 
 
 DUCHESS— (relieved) Oh, must you go this even- 
 ing? 
 
 BISHOP— The walk will do them both good. 
 
 (The Duchess hangs her head and the two 
 young people go out. The Duchess paces 
 the floor in some anger before she speaks) 
 
 DUCHESS — I don't see why — I can't understand— 
 
 BISHOP— Oh yes, you do ! The boy has been here 
 now for three weeks; you don't seem to realise 
 that you are trifling with him. The first week 
 he called to see me twice — I noticed a great 
 change in him. The second week he came when 
 he knew I would be out, and hurried away, not 
 waiting for my return. Then this last week he 
 has not been near me. The moment I saw him 
 to-day, I realised that you were playing with 
 his soul. 
 
 DUCHESS— I am not ! Oh, how you misjudge me ! 
 
35 
 
 You know, my lord, how deeply I respect you, 
 how I value your friendship, but you interfere 
 — yes, you are interfering ! I don't believe you 
 can understand how that boy's innocence and 
 inexperience fascinate me. I have been in the 
 world all my life. I have met only men and 
 women of the world ; those who seem too good 
 for it leave it as you have left it, but Francis is 
 one of us although he is not like us. 
 
 BISHOP— I want to ask you a question. When 
 you first knew him, did he seem to you at all 
 engrossed with Barbara? 
 
 DUCHESS— (equivocating) She is an attractive 
 little thing — and there were no other pretty girls 
 in sight. 
 
 BISHOP — But she isn't commonplace. 
 
 DUCHESS — I always play fair. There was certainly 
 no promise — no obligation, at least Francis never 
 told me so. After all does one's record go for 
 nothing? Have I ever been foolish? Have I 
 ever made any other woman unhappy? Have 
 I ever seemed to care at all what impression I 
 made on any man? 
 
 BISHOP— One at a time ! One question at a time. 
 I have held you up frequently as a pattern — 
 to say more would be paying compliments, the 
 thing I never do. Yet I can imagine that Fran- 
 cis, as you say, by his unlikeness to your other 
 friends, might please and attract you, perhaps, 
 beyond his deserts. Again, you may not have 
 flirted, but you know there was the Baron — 
 
 DUCHESS— Oh well, he was a very good judge of 
 pictures. 
 
 BISHOP— Hum ! And then there was that foreign 
 Secretary — 
 
 DUCHESS— A mere question of letter- writing ; one 
 must have correspondents. 
 
 BISHOP— To be sure! And then there was the 
 Prince — and that young fellow who hunted — and 
 the one that painted— and the one that wrote 
 
36 
 
 music — and the one that distinguished himself 
 in the war — all attractive individuals ! 
 
 DUCHESS— Yes, yes. But not like this. I main- 
 tain I did not flirt. 
 
 BISHOP — Without implying that you flirted, I may 
 remark that I hailed each one as the possible 
 treasure you might regard as a superb equivalent 
 for my roof — to say nothing of the new aisles ! 
 But, do you find those qualities in Francis which 
 could so enchain you that they would make 
 you absolutely indifferent to all other men? 
 Could you give up all this? Could you live in 
 some quiet, unimportant way on that boy's own 
 income of something under eight hundred a year? 
 Eight hundred a year, my dear and beautiful 
 young friend? 
 
 DUCHESS— (aggrieved) Wliy think of all the ob- 
 stacles and drawbacks? 
 
 BISHOP— It is safer. The way to succeed in life 
 depends on this ability to foresee and consider 
 every difficulty in your path. 
 
 DUCHESS— But why not drift a little? Of course 
 it would be a sacrifice if I married him — but it 
 seems indelicate to think of it. I haven't al- 
 lowed mj'self to consider anything of the sort ! 
 
 BISHOP— (firmly) Ah, you don't love him! He 
 attracts you by his novelty, by his ingenuous- 
 ness, but this is not love. 
 
 DUCHESS — Oh, how can you say— I mean, forgive 
 me, but this is a question that you cannot judge 
 of. You renounced such things long ago. You 
 have put them away out of your life. 
 
 BISHOP— The philosopher Hume has said that, 
 if we wish to understand any experiment, we 
 ourselves must not be one of the factors ! I 
 know, therefore, that I am right, when I say 
 that on your side there is a caprice, and on his 
 side there is only a boy's gratified vanity. 
 
 DUCHESS— (bursting out) But you are arguing 
 against yourself, my lord ! If I remarry, your 
 
37 
 
 diocese will have all my fortune — Ihate myself for 
 reminding you of this. 
 
 BISHOP— I know that, and the diocese could make 
 admirable use of the money. But I see 
 no happiness in this matter. I can't allow it, 
 I musnt't encourage it. When I oppose you, 
 I find myself in the painful position of one who 
 has to quarrel with his greatest benefactress,, 
 but — faithful are the wounds of a friend. I can- 
 not see three lives ruined for the sake of a diocese 
 or because I shirk the disagreeable duty of giving 
 true counsel to a kind and gentle lady who does 
 not wish to hear it. 
 
 DUCHESS— But I am in earnest. I began half in 
 fun, I know, but now I am in earnest. 
 
 BISHOP— I know better. I know many women who 
 can only feel thoroughly in earnest under the 
 stress of opposition ! Besides, how easy for you 
 to beat that little girl from the field ! What 
 chance has she against you unless you choose 
 to let her win? The triumph in this case would 
 be your surrender. Ah ! my child, I am very 
 sorry, very disappointed, even— think of my 
 roof — but — 
 
 DUCHESS— (greatly agitated) My lord, I will not 
 trust myself to reply. I may be disrespectful 
 against my will— I will go into the garden. I 
 think I must declare war ! I think I must say 
 that we cannot remain friends — that I wish you 
 had not come, that — that I am glad you cannot 
 stay ! I think I must try to prove that I am 
 in the right, and that you are in the wrong. 
 
 BISHOP— I wish you could. 
 
 (The Duchess goes out) 
 
 BISHOP— (to himself) In six months' time she 
 will be thanking me for my foresight. ( He walks 
 about the room, picking up things ) I remember 
 when I was about one and twenty, I saw 
 someone at a croquet party. She did not speak, 
 and I did not speak, but I saw her, and— if 
 
38 
 
 any one had told me then that she was not more 
 important to me than the entire globe, I think 
 I should have thought him very cynical ! 
 
 (He goes to the organ and begins to play. 
 While he is playing, at the back, on the ter- 
 race, Barbara and Francis are seen talking. 
 The Bishop in the meantime, gets sleepy 
 over his playing and sits back, his hand 
 falling down by the side of his chair. Bar- 
 bara runs in, looks round the room, and 
 finally sees the Bishop. She creeps up to 
 him, stoops, and gently kisses his ring, 
 then runs out) 
 BISHOP — (waking with a start and looking round) 
 Have I reached this age in order to dream that 
 someone came in and kissed my hand when I 
 was asleep! (laughs at himself) 
 
 (He plays a few bars as Mrs. Hericourt en- 
 ters ) 
 MRS. H: — My dear Ambrose, I haven't heard 3^ou 
 play for ages, ^¥hat a treat it is ! Don't stop — 
 and yet, I wonder whether I shall get such 
 another opportunity^ to speak with you. 
 BISHOP— (moves along the organ seat and looks 
 at her intently ) You are not stiU worrying are 
 you, about that young cub? 
 MRS. H: — He is all I have, Ambrose. 
 BISHOP— (softening) Yes, yes, my dear— most — 
 natural. (He comes down and sits beside her 
 on the sofa) 
 MRS. H: — Surely, you can remember the dangers 
 and difiiculties of a mind given over to ideals? 
 That is Frank's trouble. You must see that it 
 is hard in a Christian country to choose between 
 two most attractive women. One's elders must 
 come to the rescue in such a case. 
 BISHOP — Come to the rescue ! I have been rescuing 
 him now for the last three weeks ! The young 
 beggar doesn't want to be rescued ! He is en- 
 joying the position. He doesn't thank either 
 
39 
 
 of us for our admonitions and our assistance. 
 
 MRS. H: — But I can't bear the suspense. It must 
 be settled and at once. Look at me, I have 
 aged ten years in the last fortnight. We are 
 powerless, Ambrose. Alice must act. And the 
 one person who can influence Alice is yourself. 
 
 BISHOP — Did you by any chance overhear our last 
 conversation about five minutes ago? (laughs) 
 She ordered me out of the house ! 
 
 MRS. H : —Impossible ! My dear, you exaggerate I 
 
 BISHOP — Well, in any other woman it would have 
 amounted to that, but she did it so well — with 
 such inimitable tact ! 
 
 MRS. H: — You spoil her, Ambrose, I have always 
 thought so. But tact or no tact, charm or no 
 charm, I must know where I am. I must 
 know what is to become of my boy — 
 
 BISHOP — In fact you are in such a state that you 
 don't very much care what happens so long as 
 he takes one or the other, inasmuch as our 
 Christian prejudices will not allow him to have 
 both ! It was so much easier for parents and 
 guardians in the days of Rachel Leah ! 
 (At this moment Barbara enters) 
 
 BARBARA— Oh, my lord, the Duchess says, as you 
 must go this evening she hopes you will order 
 the carriage as late as possible. 
 
 MRS. H : —Surely, Ambrose, you are not going back 
 this evening? 
 
 BISHOP— Why? 
 
 MRS. H : —Because, now you are here, we may as 
 weU have the little entertainment, after all. 
 
 BARBARA — There is a man outside now with an il- 
 luminated address which he wants to present. 
 
 BISHOP — I will come at once. And, Catherine, will 
 you tell the Duchess in reply to her kind message 
 that the carriage order can wait. I am in no 
 particular hurry. 
 
 ( He goes off with his sister, leaving Barbara 
 alone on the stage. She takes the little 
 
40 
 
 chain and medal which the Bishop gave her 
 from her neck) 
 BARBARA — ( kissing the medal ) Oh, St. Anthony, 
 do bring me some luck ! Do help things to come 
 right ! You know he doesn't love her really, 
 nor she him. I will make him such a good wife, 
 make things come right ! 
 
 ( She is standing by the organ as the Duchess 
 enters from the back with some flowers) 
 DUCHESS— (looking pale) Oh, Barbara, will you 
 
 help me with these? 
 BARBARA — (dropping the chain into the organ) 
 Oh ! I am afraid something has gone into the 
 organ. 
 DUCHESS-What is it? 
 
 BARBARA — (equivocating) Well, I heard something 
 fall in with a sort of rattle. How can we get it 
 out? 
 DUCHESS— Well, it will be safe there anyhow. 
 BARBARA— But till when? 
 DUCHESS— Till we can get a workman. 
 BARBARA— Could he come up to-night? 
 DUCHESS— To-night, my dear child, but there is 
 not one for miles. I dare say we shall have to 
 send to Lille or Paris. An organ is a very 
 delicate instrument. (She tries to hum and 
 seem cheerful) 
 
 (Francis enters) 
 ( turning to him ) Barbara thinks something has 
 fallen into the organ. I can't think how it got there. 
 ( Francis goes up to the organ, touches some 
 of the notes and they hear a sound) 
 FRANCIS — Wliy, it has upset some of the notes — 
 F sharp, G sharp, and G. How can we have the 
 concert ? 
 DUCHESS— (lightly) Oh, they can leave out G 
 
 sharp when they come to it. 
 BARBARA — It makes such a whizzy noise. 
 
 (Francis leaves Barbara and goes over to 
 the Duchess) 
 
41 
 
 FRANCIS— How pale 3^ou look ! But you are just 
 as beautiful when you are pale — 
 
 DUCHESS— Perhaps it is the scent of the flowers. 
 
 FRAN CIS— I wish we could have stayed by the 
 river. 
 
 DUCHESS— (studying him) We were happy there, 
 weren't we? (With restrained feeling) I love to 
 watch your face. 
 
 FRANCIS— (prosaic and embarrassed) I am sup- 
 posed to be very like my Mother. 
 
 DUCHESS— (laughing) But that isn't the reason 
 why I love to look at you, silly-billy ! 
 
 FRANCIS— (gaining courage) It is because you see 
 sometimes how much I admire — 
 
 BARBARA — (striking note, almost in tears) Oh, it 
 does make such a discord ! 
 
 (The Bishop enters, reading an address to 
 himself, followed by Mrs. Hericourt) 
 
 BISHOP— A most charming address ! I have been 
 compared to the sun and the moon ! The valleys 
 have not seen my equal, and the mountains trem- 
 ble at the privilege of surrounding my birthplace ! 
 All the stars have had the honour of resem- 
 bling me ! If I hadn't a slightly stiff neck, my 
 head would be turned ! 
 
 FRANCIS — Oh, uncle can mend the organ ! He can 
 mend anything. 
 
 (The Duchess looks rigid) 
 
 BARBARA— (entreating) Something has got in 
 behind the keys, my lord, and the Duchess does 
 so want 3^ou to mend it before the concert. She 
 thinks she will have to send to Paris, and that 
 will mean days. 
 
 MRS. H: — I don't think, my dear, that Ambrose is 
 equal to such important work. 
 
 BISHOP — I don't know. You put me on my mettle, 
 Catherine. I can but trj. 
 
 DUCHESS— (coldly ) Of course, my lord, if you will 
 stop and be so kind — I myself would not dare to 
 ask such a favour ! 
 
42 
 
 BISHOP — (pleasantly) I can refuse nothing, and 
 the curious point is that when I left home, I told 
 them not to expect me back, although I had 
 made my arrangements. But I had a feeling 
 somehow that I should remain here. It was 
 just a feeling ! 
 
 ( The Duchess hangs her head and the Bishop 
 looks round at Barbara and Francis. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND ACT. 
 
43 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE: — Morning room in the Chateau de 
 Ranee. As curtain rises, the Bishop is seen 
 seated on the floor surrounded by organ 
 pipes, and his hand is tied up as though 
 injured in some way. The room, which is 
 beautifully furnished, is littered with tools, 
 oil cans, etc. Two pompous men servants 
 in livery are assisting, with evident super- 
 ciliousness, the Bishop. Francis is looking 
 on. 
 BISHOP— Grand merci, mes amis, on ne pent pas 
 tout faire, mais Dieu merci, je suis horloger, 
 jardinier, imprimeur — peut-etre, je perds en ces 
 lieux mes beaux talents. Tenez, (gives them 
 some money) priez pour moi ! 
 (The two men go out) 
 BISHOP— (looking after them with admiration) 
 My friends sometimes deplore the fact that I am 
 so lacking in the grand manner, (returning to 
 his task) One should always penetrate to the 
 bed-rock of any trouble, my dear Francis. You 
 see I am taking this whole organ to pieces in 
 order to find the little rift within the lute ! 
 FRANCIS — I wonder whether that was necessary. 
 BISHOP — So many things are blessings in disguise, 
 my dear boy, (ingenuously) How do I know 
 this accident has not been sent as an excuse for 
 a brief holiday? It is recreation for a tired man, 
 whatever I do, I like to do thoroughly 
 By the bye, that reminds me, I see you have 
 been paying court to ... . (he hesitates slyly 
 and hammers a little) Barbara. 
 FRAN:— (astonished) What did you say, uncle? 
 BISHOP — I say it is evident that you have decided 
 to court Barbara. The verb to court, to me, is 
 
44 
 
 an admirable, chivalrous, if old-fashioned ex- 
 pression. I remember a most delightful couplet 
 in an old poem by Herrick, which says: — 
 "Wash, dress, be brief in prajdng! 
 Few beads are best when once M-e go a-maying." 
 That means, court while you court, and pray 
 Avhile you pray. Guard against a divided mind. 
 
 FRAN: — I am afraid I must own that I don't see 
 my way as clearly as I could wish, sir. 
 
 BISHOP— (drily) That is a very common pre- 
 dicament. ( He leaves his work, comes down and 
 puts his hand on the boy's shoulder and looks 
 at him very directly ) Now, if you were in a 
 boat and there were two ladies in it besides 
 yourself and one w^as Barbara, and one. . . 
 was someone else. . . and a great storm arose 
 and two of them fell overboard, and you could 
 only save one, to whom would you give jonr 
 hand? That is my favorite test question for 
 hard cases of this sort. It is homely, but effec- 
 tive. Imagine, there is the boat, there is the 
 deep sea, there, perhaps, is the devil, and the two 
 ladies are here ; over they go — and now, what is 
 Francis going to do? 
 
 (Francis appears absorbed in thought) 
 You must not hesitate. . . 
 
 FRAN:— Oh well, poor little Barbara. . . 
 
 BISHOP— That will do, I can go back to my work 
 now ! 
 
 FRAN:— But sir, that is all imagination. 
 
 BISHOP— Ah, but it hits off the difficulty. It may 
 not clear your way, but it clears mine. 
 (The Duchess is heard talking outside) 
 
 DUCHESS— (outside) You don't mean to say that 
 his lordship is working in there ! ( calling aloud ) 
 Gustave, who put those chairs in the hall? Fran- 
 cois ! 
 
 (The voices of servants are heard in vio- 
 lent high toned French. The Duchess enters 
 in a hurricane of excitement and on catch- 
 
45 
 
 ing sight of the organ in pieces wrings her 
 hands ) 
 
 DUCHESS— Oh my lord, my lord, my lord ! this is 
 naughty. . . my favorite room— and the organ 
 in pieces ! 
 
 BISHOP— I shall get it all right, my dear child, in 
 about a week. 
 
 DUCHESS— In a Aveek ! But the dust, the confusion ! 
 And you have hurt yourself on the hand. ... I 
 am really very angry ! I am altogether put out 
 and cross. Really, my lord, it is too bad. It is 
 most unsuitable work for you. (She half cries 
 and half laughs) And I want you Francis, to take 
 this letter to Monsignor Campden. The car- 
 riage is there. I am too busy to go myself- 
 wait for an answer because it is important 
 (with a reassuring glance) That is why I 
 trust no one else with it. 
 
 (Francis takes the letter and goes out) 
 
 DUCHESS— I have been thinking over all you said. 
 I don't get calmer, I get more angry. I will 
 have my own way. Surely if I have found some 
 one at last I with whom I can be happy, 
 and whom I can make happy, I am 
 right to resent any advice no matter how well 
 
 meant— and I do resent it and of course, I 
 
 see why you have pulled the organ to pieces. 
 You think I ought to be watched 
 
 BISHOP— In chess one is always taught to take care 
 of the Queen ! The Queen can move all over the 
 board, whereas the Bishop can only move diag- 
 onally ! 
 
 DUCHESS— (stamping her foot) Oh, how can you 
 sit there talking about chess when I am in- 
 such a rage that it is on the verge of a mortal sin ! 
 
 BISHOP— It seems to me that if I don't sit peace- 
 fully—the mortal sin would be committed. The 
 verge is better. 
 
 DUCHESS— You don't seem to understand that you 
 have made me very unhappy. 
 
46 
 
 BISHOP— (more seriously) Now, wait, even if I 
 admit that you care for this boy, how do 
 you know that he cares for you? 
 
 DUCHESS — Oh, I know it by a thousand signs ! 
 
 BISHOP— My dear child, in the depths of his heart 
 he loves Barbara. She is his natural choice — 
 you dazzle him, intoxicate him, if you like — 
 and you have just that power over him which 
 could make him always discontented with any 
 other person, but I want you to use your gifts 
 in quite another direction. I want you to make 
 these two young people happy. All that you 
 do will be well done — that I know. 
 
 DUCHESS — I give with all my heart what I have, 
 and indeed, what I have not — when I can bor- 
 row it, but you ask for something now which I 
 can neither beg nor borrow — another person's 
 happiness, (she laughs) 
 
 BISHOP — Do you suppose I am thinking only of 
 Francis? Am I not thinking of you too? Ah, 
 exercise your prudence. 
 
 DUCHESS— But I don't want to! Why should I 
 sacrifice myself for that girl? She is not so 
 hard to please as I am, she could find easily at 
 any ball a dozen young men who might please 
 her, but Francis is to me one in the whole world 
 
 BISHOP — Ah, you think so — and the more particu- 
 larly because someone else admires him also. 
 
 DUCHESS — (continuing) She takes all his charm, 
 all his enthusiasm, as a matter of course. When 
 she has been in the world a few years longer and 
 learns to know men and women as I have — Ah, 
 you must understand One loves his simplicity, 
 
 BISHOP — But could you, with your life and your 
 tastes, find pleasure in the perpetual contem- 
 plation of unrelieved simplicity? He is not a 
 brilliant boy, he is not a man with a great 
 future, he is just a boyish boy, in fact, to be 
 perfectly honest, he is rather stupid ! He is 
 my own nephew and I can say so. 
 
47 
 
 DUCHESS— (begins to laugh) But he is so hand- 
 some ! 
 
 BISHOP— Ah, that is another question altogether. 
 I see you are wavering; you cannot answer my 
 objections. 
 
 DUCHESS — I am not wavering, and I don't care 
 whether he is stupid or not. 
 
 BISHOP — But you will care, whereas that girl, that 
 poor little girl — would she ever find his intellect 
 somewhat— shall I say drowsy? Never! 
 
 DUCHESS— (drily) I am not sure that you know 
 women well. 
 
 BISHOP— (rather piqued) I know life, which is 
 more important, perhaps. 
 
 DUCHESS— You tempt me to heroism, but I have 
 seen no evidence at all of this great devotion be- 
 tween Francis and Barbara. There ! You, my 
 lord, seem to be sustained by inward convic- 
 tions—graces to which I cannot pretend. I 
 want some sign — something to encourage 
 me. 
 
 ( At this moment Barbara enters quietly. She 
 seems surprised to see the Duchess and is 
 about to go away) 
 
 BISHOP— Don't go away, my child. Come in, al- 
 though I must go now and get myself tidy. 
 When does the fete begin? 
 
 DUCHESS— They ought to be here in about half 
 an hour. 
 
 BISHOP— (ruefully) Well, I am afraid they won't 
 be able to use the organ. 
 (He goes out) 
 
 DUCHESS— (carelessly ) Do you know you have 
 made a conquest? 
 
 BARBARA— Have I? 
 
 DUCHESS-Yes, the Bishop- 
 
 B ARB : — ( disappointed ) Oh ! 
 
 DUCHESS— (arranging flowers around the room) 
 Don't you think it is a greater thing to please 
 a saint who is a genius into the bargain than 
 
48 
 
 any ordinary man (watches the girl) no mat- 
 ter how young or fascinating? 
 
 BARB: — I don't see why one couldn't please both. 
 
 DUCHESS — (taken aback) perhaps you have. Are 
 you glad that Francis has given up his idea of 
 going into the Church? 
 
 BARB : — I think it a pity that all the good men 
 should become priests. 
 
 DUCHESS — How long have you known Francis? 
 
 BARB : —Two or three years. But we met at long 
 intervals. 
 
 DUCHESS— (lightly) Has he changed at all in the 
 last year? 
 
 BARB: — In some ways. 
 
 DUCHESS— Well, is he nicer than he used to be, or 
 not so nice— that sort of thing? 
 
 BARB : — He is more interesting. 
 
 DUCHESS — It is a pity he is so timid. 
 
 BARB : — Oh, do you think he is timid? (thoughtfully) I 
 haven't noticed that. 
 
 DUCHESS — I mean he lacks self-confidence. Surely 
 a man ought to be — well, dashing. 
 
 BARB: — How strange it is we should see him so 
 differently, (dreamily) Now, he is quite my idea 
 of a cavalier. 
 
 DUCHESS— ( quietly ) I suppose so. But I feel that 
 he could talk better if he chose. 
 
 BARB : — But he is a tremendous talker, dear Duch- 
 ess. I think that is how he gets on with me. I 
 am perhaps a good listener. 
 
 DUCHESS— (at once) What does he talk about? 
 
 BARB: — Oh, about his thoughts, what he is going 
 to do, what he has done, and what he thinks 
 about everybody else. It is wonderful to hear 
 what Francis thinks of everybody else. Nothing 
 escapes him — he is such a judge of character. 
 
 DUCHESS— (inquisitively) Well, what does he 
 think of me for instance. 
 
 BARB : — I think you know. 
 
 DUCHESS— No, I don't really. I often wonder. In 
 
49 
 
 fact, I am altogether surprised. I don't believe 
 I know him after all. 
 BARB : — Well, you see, when he is with you, you talk 
 and he is the listener. That makes such a difference. 
 ( The Duchess is surprised at this and before 
 she can recover from her astonishment Fran- 
 cis enters carrying a letter in his hand) 
 DUCHESS — Have you come back already? 
 FRANCIS— Yes, and Monsignor Campden sent you 
 this letter. 
 
 (He stands between the two women and 
 while he gives the Duchess the letter he looks 
 at Barbara. The Duchess perceives this. She 
 takes the letter. ) 
 DUCHESS— (lightly) I shall want you in a minute 
 to make some suggestions about the other side 
 of the organ; they are getting out some old 
 tapestry now. Your uncle has quite spoilt my 
 room for the party this afternoon. I will read 
 this letter first. 
 FRANCIS — I have never seen the Monsignor in such 
 spirits. I suppose he is looking forward to the 
 fete. The whole village is in a state of excite- 
 ment and rival bands are doing their best to 
 drown each other. One is playing the march 
 from ' ' Faust, ' ' and the other is struggling through 
 "Rousseau's Dream." Wlien I left, the Dream 
 was getting the upper hand ! 
 DUCHESS— You said that just like your uncle ! 
 FRANCIS— But wait till you see this ! They have 
 been printed at the Abbey under uncle's supervis- 
 ion. They are rather striking. 
 
 (He unrolls some posters, very badly printed, 
 the type quite crooked running up into the 
 corner, words are left unfinished. The an- 
 nouncement is 
 
 Grande Fete 
 Donnee Marie de Paque 
 par la permission 
 de Madame la Duchesse de Quen) 
 
50 
 
 DUCHESS— (laughing and taking one) I'll go and 
 show it to him. 
 
 ( She goes out, glancing over her shoulder at 
 the young couple as she goes) 
 
 FRANCIS — (awkwardly) I have been down to the 
 
 Abbey I wish you had been with me. Where 
 
 did you hide all the morning? 
 
 BARB : — I thought I would keep out of the way. 
 
 FRANCIS— (volubly forgetting himself for once in a 
 short burst of emotion ) But it was just the 
 day for us ! The sky hadn't a cloud, all along 
 the road on either side the flowers were spring- 
 ing up. It was not the time when the birds sing, 
 but I knew they were all around me and I was 
 thinking of you, and how sweet and dear you 
 have always been to me — how you have en- 
 couraged, how you have understood me, how 
 patient you have been and 
 
 BARB : — ( encouraginglv ) And then 
 
 FRANCIS— (thoughtfully) Then I thought, that— 
 although this was very beautiful — the life here 
 — it was really only a prelude. I must get to 
 work and deserve my prize — before I think too 
 much about it. 
 
 BARB:— Wliat is your prize? 
 
 FRANCIS— (suddenly becoming self-concious ) I 
 want to ask you a question. 
 
 BARB : — ( nervously ) What about ? 
 
 FRANCIS— (In a laboured manner) It is a test 
 question. Now suppose you were in a boat with 
 two friends, and they fell overboard, and you 
 could only save one — which one would you save? 
 It is supposed to be a way of finding out which 
 of the two you like the best, but you must not 
 think over your answer, you must say it quick- 
 ly 
 
 BARB: — (hurt) Well, if I was in a boat with two 
 friends, — say, your mother and ym mother 
 
 FRANCIS— No, that doesn't come right, if you make 
 it mothers ! I think you had better say two 
 
51 
 
 men. I mean, if I were one of them, and a very 
 handsome delightful, brilliant friend were the 
 other, would j'ou let me drown? 
 BARB :— I never heard of such a question ! I don't 
 understand it at all, and of course I can't tell 
 . onto your own face that I should save the other 
 and you wouldn't believe me if I did. It is very 
 unkin ! ( indignantly ) 
 FRANCIS — No, it is only my awkwardness. I want- 
 ed to explain that you had been misunderstand- 
 ing me. 
 BARB : — Oh, no, I have not. I must say it is very 
 difficult for 3^ou, in the present situation, to 
 know just how to act. It is not your fault. I 
 hope it isn't anybody's fault,— but I hate the 
 boat story ! It is almost as though you were 
 making fun. 
 
 (the Bishop enters and notices her agitation 
 and Francis) 
 BISHOP — Although I have made myself respectable 
 again the very sight of these tools excites me to 
 work ! 
 
 ( The Duchess's voice is heard calling loudly 
 in the next room) 
 DUCHESS— Francis ! Francis ! 
 BISHOP— I fancy there is some one calling you, 
 Francis ! 
 
 ( Francis goes up, seems to hesitate and the 
 Duchess is heard again — " Francis." He goes 
 out and Barbara stands still a moment un- 
 til he is out of earshot. She then goes to 
 the Bishop) 
 BARB :— Oh, my lord, I haven't been able to tell you 
 that I know what is the matter with the organ. 
 I dropped the little chain into it. 
 BISHOP— What ! the little chain with the medal 
 
 on it? 
 BARB:— Yes, my lord, I couldn't mention it be- 
 fore the others, because I didn't want anyone to 
 know that you had given it to me. 
 
52 
 
 BISHOP— Then it isn't in the pedals or behind the 
 key board. I needn't have done all this. 
 
 BARB: — If you doq' miqd , my lord, I have go a 
 headache. I seems as though I— had a head- 
 ache. 
 
 (She goes out, leaving the Bishop alone) 
 
 BISHOP — (at the organ) When I see young people 
 I have not the slightest desire to be young 
 again. It is such a blessing to have got all this 
 kind of thing over and done with, (picking up 
 the tools) Now, I don't see why I shouldn't go 
 on with this; it is very engrossing, (hammers 
 a little) All the same, as we are on the subject 
 of youth, it is astonishing that Francis should 
 really prefer that girl, charming as she may be, 
 to that noble creature whose one fault is too 
 much heart. Yes, her heart runs away with her 
 ( starts back ) Hallo ! 
 
 (From the other side of the organ the Duch- 
 ess's hand covered with rings is seen, holding 
 the small chain) 
 
 DUCHESS— (from the other side) I have found it. 
 Oh, I have found it ! 
 
 BISHOP — Wait, wait, wait, you will hurt yourself, 
 if you are not careful. 
 
 (he slides some of the wood back and the 
 Duchess comes through) 
 
 BISHOP— So you are the little rift within the lute ! 
 
 DUCHESS— (holding the chain in her hand) Mind 
 my gown, you are spoiling my gown. I thought 
 I would do my share in the hunt, but, not pos- 
 sessing miraculous gifts, I found this at once, 
 (holding it up) Did you drop it in my lord? 
 
 BISHOP-Not I! 
 
 DUCHESS— Then whose is it? (she examines it) 
 Why, what is this? Francis ! It belongs to 
 Francis ! 
 
 BISHOP— Is there anything else on it? 
 
 DUCHESS— (looking closely) Is there any thing 
 else on it? Barbara. VVh}^, it is scratched on. 
 
53 
 
 BISHOP— Well, are you satisfied now? Do you want 
 
 any further sign? • 
 PUCHESS— Do you suppose he gave it to her, or 
 she gave it to him? (looks at the Bishop and 
 begins to laugh though she is half in tears ) He 
 never wrote my name on any medal. I suppose 
 it is a love token. There it is quite plainly— 
 Francis— Barbara. It looks like fate, doesn't it? 
 
 (she laughs) The two names 
 
 BISHOP— And you found it ! 
 
 DUCHESS— (trying to control her chagrin) And 
 she never missed it ! If he had given it to me 
 and I had lost it, I should have missed it. But 
 I see you have been right. I have been talking 
 to her. She doesn't know the Frank I know, 
 but it is the real Frank whom neither of us 
 know. He tells her things he would never tell 
 us, and if she doesn't think him stupid, it is be- 
 cause he is not. I have been selfish— I will make 
 it all come right — you shall see. 
 
 (The Duchess turns away trying to master 
 her emotion, and seeing Francis and Bar- 
 bara on the terrace goes to the Bishop and 
 puts her hand on his arm) 
 DUCHESS— Will you call Francis for me? I don't 
 like to call him myself. I have been calling him 
 too often lately, (she points to the terrace 
 where Barbara and Francis are talking together) 
 And bring in the little girl by and bye. 
 BISHOP— (meekly) Shall I take her around the 
 
 lake? 
 DUCHESS— No, keep near, I don't want you to go 
 so very far away. 
 
 (The Bishop is about to speak to her, but 
 checks himself and goes slowly out of the 
 room as the Duchess stands looking at the 
 little chain. When left alone she wipes away 
 some tears. The Bishop is seen talking to 
 Francis on the terrace and Francis comes 
 slowly into the room) 
 
54 
 
 FRANCIS— It is so beautiful in the garden, Uncle 
 says he thinks you ought to come out. 
 
 DUCHESS— (lightly) I will come in a minute, but I 
 want to rest first and I want you to amuse me. 
 
 FRANCIS— I am not clever enough to do that. 
 
 DUCHESS— Well, then I will amuse you. Sit down, 
 (she is about to make room for him on the sofa, 
 hesitates and points to a chair instead) over 
 there and I can sit here. I think I will tell you 
 a little stor3\ Once upon a time 
 
 FRANCIS— (indignant) You treat me as though I 
 were a child. 
 
 DUCHESS— Do I? No, really, have you just found 
 that out? Why, Francis, you are a child— 
 not in years perhaps, but certainly in temper. 
 You had much better let me tell you a story. 
 Once upon a time there was a youth and he 
 loved — 
 
 FRANCIS— Loved ! Did you say? 
 
 DUCHESS— Yes, 1-o-v-e-d ! He loved a very pretty 
 young girl but— (looks at Francis) 
 
 FRANCIS-Well- 
 
 DUCHESS— But he didn't know it, and so one day 
 he met his fairy godmother. She was not an 
 ugly old godmother, I cannot go so far as that, 
 you could not expect me to say that — and she 
 said to herself, " I must bring him to his senses." 
 Now, what do you suppose she did? 
 
 FRANCIS— (roused) I can tell you if you like. 
 
 DUCHESS— No, can you? That will be amusing. 
 
 FRANCIS— She made herself as fascinating as she 
 could, and she made a fool of the young 
 man ! 
 
 DUCHESS— No, she didn't! Because you see, she 
 never meant to be sincere; she never supposed 
 that he would think she was. She knew, too, 
 that there was no chance of his ever loving her, 
 that is why it was so harmless, do you see, 
 Frank? She Just wanted to make him see how 
 much nicer the girl was than she was. It was 
 
55 
 
 unselfish of the fairy-godmother all the same — 
 
 perfectly sweet of the fairy-god mother, 
 (he looks blankly at her) 
 
 Perhaps I don't tell the story well? 
 FRANCIS— Oh yes, you do ! It is what they call 
 
 letting me down gently ! 
 DUCHESS— I don't care what you think so long as 
 
 you believe that she acted for the best. 
 FRANCIS— (eagerly) You could have had it all 
 
 your own way very easily— oh, so easily ! 
 DUCHESS— Is that true? Then this is my way, 
 
 dear. Confess now you are glad? You are se- 
 cretly relieved? 
 FRANCIS— And haven't you really cared what 
 
 became of me? 
 DUCHESS— I don't care much about anything else 
 
 and and — that is, I am so sure and so 
 
 convinced that you love Barbara. 
 
 ( she watches him narrowly but he makes no 
 protest ) 
 
 And you do, don't you? 
 
 ( he looks at her and seems to be distrustful ) 
 
 I knew it ! ( she turns to the terrace and calls 
 
 Barbara) ! 
 FRANCIS — Wliat are you going to say? 
 DUCHESS— Oh never mind, something you want to 
 
 hear. 
 
 (the Bishop and Barbara come in from the 
 terrace ) 
 DUCHESS— Barbara ! What do you think Barbara? 
 
 The little chain is found ! 
 BARB: — (embarrassed) Oh, who found it? 
 DUCHESS— I saw it behind the keys. 
 FRANCIS— But I thought I lost it on the road last 
 
 week. How did it get there? 
 DUCHESS (looking from one to sthe other) Is it 
 
 yours then? Which is the true owner? 
 BARB : — (in a low voice ) It is not really mine. 
 BISHOP— (slyly) Could it by any chance belong 
 
 to both of you? 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
56 
 
 DUCHESS— (giving it to Francis) Ask her if it 
 may. 
 
 (Francis looks at the Duchess and at Bar- 
 bara hesitating. The Duchess put her hand 
 on Barbara's shoulder) 
 Scold him first and say "Yes" afterwards — 
 ( As the young couple turn away the Duchess 
 looks at the Bishop and tries to laugh but 
 it is choked) 
 BISHOP — (going over to her) It was generously 
 
 done ! You'll be glad I suppose I may take 
 
 it that I have lost my roof ! But I have gained 
 something better, much better, I have got a new 
 saint instead ! 
 DUCHESS— (through her tears) Oh, it is easy for 
 
 you to renounce — 
 BISHOP— Oh, not so easy. 
 
 ( At this moment Mrs. Hericourt enfers with 
 Monsignor Campden) 
 MRS. H : — (in great excitement going to the Duch- 
 ess. ) My dear Duchess how splendid of you ! 
 Monsignor Campden has just told me. I can- 
 not find words the whole village is over- 
 whelmed with Joy ! 
 BISHOP — Surely the news has not reached it al- 
 ready? 
 MONSIG: — (to Duchess) Have you told his lord- 
 ship? 
 DUCHESS— Not a word ! As I wrote to you, it has 
 been a secret, (turning to the Bishop) The 
 Bishop, you know, can only move diagonally, 
 whereas the Queen can move all over the board ! 
 BISHOP— What is the mystery? I am suspecting 
 
 — I am hoping — 
 MONSIG:— The Duchess has given us the roof as a 
 gift ! 
 
 (The Bishop is about to thank her, when 
 the Duchess checks him) 
 DUCHESS— No, no, no thanks ! It is a drawn 
 game ! 
 
57 
 
 BISHOP— With advantage, I think to the Bishop ! 
 (At this moment the band is heard playing 
 in the distance, "Rousseau's Dream," and 
 great sound of cheering. Two footmen enter 
 ushering in some children headed by a little 
 girl carrying two enormous bouquets fol- 
 lowed by the Mayor with an address and a 
 crowd of peasants and others. The Bishop 
 takes the Duchess by the hand to receive 
 the deputa tion and the curtain falls) 
 
 END OF THE PLAY. 
 
<s 
 
 H 52-79i 
 
 ...rv. 
 

 . » ^^ * ^^^r^^^> Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 
 ^^ " ^^iil^^ ** A^^"^ "'^//MttVvV^ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 
 ^rU * ^^lEr * "V^ "^ ". ^^^< Treatment Date: March 2009 
 
 % *7yf7*^ ^ • <' 'o . . * „ .:._-r-_u^«i--:-» 
 
 .^^ 
 
 ► "=" T!fy/»tt\vV^ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 
 ^ ". ^^ < Treatment Date: March 2009 
 
 ^ '^<^. '" ' * * PreservationTechnologi( 
 
 »^-» "^ly, C A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVAT 
 
 P> * vf* . ^ 111 Thomson Park Drive 
 
 a^'^ "^0 Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
 
 «<\„ • 4 O (724)779-2111 
 
 Wo u? ^ 
 

 .46962