LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA PRESENTED BY Mr. H. H. Ki 1 iani UCSB LIBRARIC THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF BALZAC VOLUME I. I he Dramatic Works of Honore de Balzac FIRST ENGLISH TRANSLATION \y f ^ V 1 R E E. endereil into n g 1 i s h by de Valcourt-Vermont V • O L U M E 1 y A U T R I N R U I N O L A ' S E S O U R C E S P G A M E L A I R A U D GEBBIE & COMPANY PHILADELPHIA ■ NTaniD AooOROiNa TO AOT o:' CoNaRiaa in thi Y>*ii 1001, ar WILLIAM H. LEE iM THi oPFioa OP THi LiaRARiAN OP CoM«naaa at WAaMiNarOM, O. 0> Contents PAGE Introduction, 5 Plays, Volume I. Vautrin, 15 Quinola's Resources, I47 Pamela Giraud 285 Plays Volume II. The Step-Mother, 9 Mercadet, . . . . , , , 143 INTRODUCTION It is the first time, to our knowledge, that the £ve plays constituting the Dramatic Works of HonorS dc Balzac are rendered into the English language. Certainly none of the collections of the famous Frenchman' s magnum opus, issued in England or America, and so justly popular on both sides of the Ocean, include these two vol- umes which are invariably comprised in the French sets of the same works. This singular omission needs perhaps a few words of explanation, as a kind of preface xo this translation. To begin with, it is well known that publishers are often overcautious in their acceptance of translated works of fiction. Indeed an author has had to gain a very wide reputation in his own country before securing the remotest chance to the honor of transference into a foreign lan- guage. Then, again, only such works of his as have met with a particularly flattering welcome in the original are in demand outside of the land of his birth. Thus the probabilities are great that the author venturing abroad will obtain but a very incomplete bearing, doubtless, limited to what in the book- world is called his ''money- making^' successes. Later, after his death gen- erally, and in exceptional cases only, the comple- 7 8 INTRODUCTION mentary works of the foreigner are added to the ''leaders^' already published, these additions depending for their sale on being included in "editions'' or "sets.'' In this respect, Balzac, the great Balzac, has not escaped the common fate. To this day, and when his reputation among the English-speaking people has reached such satisfying proportions, those of his books that are really popular with the mass of the reading public could be counted upon the ten fingers of the hands, and have been issued .under a dozen different garbs. The balance of the 42 volumes forming the collection of his novels and philosophical w^orks, are practically unknown, or at least neglected by the general reader. This is doubtless one of the reasons why publishers — if they knew of the existence of the dramatic works of Balzac — did not add these two remarkable volumes to the large collections already on the market. And besides, for the public at large, Balzac is essentially a novelist, the greatest of them all in the opinion of many literary lights, but with the limitations of the novelist; just as Shakes- peare, with whom he is so frequently compared, is distinctively and exclusively a playwright and a poet. This idea has been so firmly implanted in the foreign mind that it is almost with fear and trem- bling that we dare touch the curious error thus fostered and entertained, and proclaim the fact that Balzac has written plays — live of them — , that these plays have all been acted on prominent Parisian stages by actors of no mean reputation, and that INTRODUCTION 9 tbeir plots, characters, and style are of the most captivating interest. Nor do they belong- to what might be called the incubating period of bis talent, to those long years of dire poverty — from 1822 to 1829 — when the struggling young author was issuing under various noms de plume the many stories included since among ''the novels of his youth.*' No, the dramatic works of Balzac all date from the hey- day of the prolific author's life — from 1838 to 1850, the year of his death. Thus does fall to the ground the unjust assertion made by people w^bo never perused these plays that they are but interior productions of either an undeveloped or an exhausted writer. Finally an explanation is in order as to the comparative lack of success of these productions on the stage, as it has had evidently a serious inEuence on the decision of foreign publishers not to include them in their sets of translations. As a matter of fact, but two of the works com- prised in these volumes were positively rejected by the hypercritical public of the " £rst nights,'* and a sober judgment leads us to think that only oce— Quinola's Resources— might be classed as an ill-constructed theatrical machine. Of the four others, Mercadet is still presented frequently on the boards of that famed sanctuary of high his- trionic art — the Theatre Francais — and The Step" Mother has often been mentioned as a sure success if revived by a £rst-class company. Vautrin and Pamela Giraud have certainly suffered worse from the changes in ways, manners and habits of the lO INTRODUCTION people, and would meet with a doubtful welcome from French audiences of the present day; but this, of course, has little, if anything, to do with their intrinsic merit and interest as works of literature. And this is the point we are particu- larly desirous of impressing upon the reader's mind before he begins perusing these volumes. We did not, without giving the matter long and serious thought, resolve to apply ourselves to produce as good and faithful a translation of Balzac's Dramatic Works as lay within our power. We read and re-read the plays in the original with, we believe, cool and unbiased attention, and it was only when the powerful interest that pervades them all had acted over us with the usual magic of the great dissector of human hearts and minds that we accepted our self imposed task, with the firm conviction that there was not a page in these two volumes that would not conquer and retain the breathless interest of the reader. In fact we consider these plays as containing more exciting action and more ingenious combinations than the majority of the novelist's best stories. This said, let us give a paragraph or two to the peculiar atmosphere of each play, as we have avoided breaking off the interest of the reading, by the introduction of footnotes in reference to the historical coloring so plentifully used by the author. Vautrin is, of course a well-known character to the readers of Balzac's novels, as the sinister figure of the ex-convict looms up in its terrific grandeur in Pt're Goriot, Lost Illusions, Splendor INTRODUCTION ii and Wretchedness of Courtezans and The Last Incarnation of Vautrin. In the play, however, none of these novels has been drawn upon to furnish incidents or characters. It is the case, in fact, with every one of the Balzac theatrical efforts; they are not in any sense of the word adaptations from any of his published stories and the plots are as new as they are ingenious. The atmosphere, in Vautrin, is that of the Court of the Bourbon kings, shortly after the second return to Paris of Louis XVIII. The allied troops are still in possession of the country and titled for- eigners are almost as numerous in the capital as the returned French nobles. This statement explains many of the peculiarities of plot and action. Quinola's Resources brings us back to the dark days of Philip II. of Spain, at the time of the all-powerful Holy OlEce, or Spanish Inquisition. In a short preface, that preceded the hrst publica- tion of this drama, Balzac insisted that he had discovered in old Spanish archives sufScient evi- dence that such a boat moved by a steam-engine had been truly constructed by a Spanish pupil ot the great Galileo, but had been mysteriously destroyed after the first successful experiment. It is a far cry from 1588-89 to Fulton's first suc- cessful steamboat. The Clermont, and its trial trip on the Hudson, August 11, 1807. But the legend, if legend it be, is well told and certainly worth reading. Pamela Giraud leads us back to the period of 12 INTRODUCTION the French Restoration {1816-1S30), and to those troubled times when the old soldiers of Napoleon were plotting the return of the *' little corporal" or the enthronement of that puny son of his, the Austrian Duke of Reichstadt, '* TAiglon." To the latter part of this same historical era, The Step'Mother must be ascribed. No plotting is mentioned in this superb drama, but the hatreds originating from the Revolutionary and Imperia- listic periods are seen at play in an apparently peaceful home until they destroy its very founda- tions. Mercadet tells a story of more contemporaneous interest, in fact a story as fresh to-day and in our own United States as it was in the fifties in Paris. For it treats of the wiles and tricks of unscrupulous speculators and promoters, and it needs but very slight verbal changes to make the whole story fit admirably some ill flavored inci- dent in the life of the 20th century financier. With these few words of introduction and explanation we do not hesitate to submit Balzac's Dramatic Works to the judgment of the intelli- gent American reader. E. de Valcourt'Vermont. VAUTRIN A Drama in Five Acts Presented for the first time at the Theatre de la Porte Saint Martin^ in Paris^ March //, 1840. CHARACTERS Jacques Collin, alias Vautrin. The Duke of Montsorf.i,. The Marquis Albert ok Montsorel, his son. Raoul de Frescas. Charles Blondet, alias The Chevalier of Saint-Charles. Francois Caoet, alias The Philo.sopher. Silk-Thread, a cook. BuTEUX, a janitor. Philippe Boulard, alias Lafouraillk. A Police Captain. Joseph Bonnet, the groom of the chambers of the Duchess of Montsorel. The Duchess of Montsorel (Louise de Vaudrey). Mapemoiselle de Vaudrey, her aunt. The Duchess of Christoval. Ines dk Christoval (Princess of Arjos). Fklicite, maid of the Duchess of Montsorel. Servants, policemen, detectives, etc. The action takes place in Paris, shortly after the second return of the Bourbons, in i8i6. VAUTRIN FIRST ACT (A Drawing-room in the Montsorel manaion.) SCENE I The Duchess of Montsorel, Mademoiselle DE Vaudrey. the duchess. — And so you waited for me? How kind of you ! MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. — What Can be the mat- ter with you, to-day, Louise? For the first time in the twelve years that we have grieved together, I see you with a happy face. To one who knows you as I do, it is positively alarming. THE DUCHESS. — Oh, my joy must manifest itself — You who have shared my anguish during all these years can alone understand the delight brought to me by a faint ray of hope. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. — Havc you learned something about your son? THE DUCHESS. — I havc fouud him. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. — That caunot be — You will only suffer added tortures when you find you have been the victim of an illusion. 15 i6 VAUTRIN THE PUCHESS. — Dear aunt, a dead child has his grave in his mother's heart, but a stolen child lives there to the last. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREv. — Hush! If anyonc should hear you ! THE DUCHESS. — What do I care! From to-day, I begin a new life and feel within me all the strength needed to resist Monsieur de Montsorel's tyranny. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREV. — After twcuty-two yeaxs of vain tears, upon what events do you base this new hope? THE DUCHESS. — It is more than a hope — Just listen ! After the King's reception, I drove to the Spanish embassy; the Ambassador was to present me to the Duchess of Christoval. It was there that I saw a young man who looked strikingly like me. Do you understand now why I returned home so late? I felt as if I were fixed in the drawing-room where he stood. Only when lie left could I withdraw. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREV. — And is it such a fccblc clue that has excited you so greatly? THE DUCHESS. — For a mother, is not a sudden revela- tion the surest of proofs? The first time I gazed upon him, I felt as if a flame passed before my eyes; his look kindled my life again and I was filled with heav- enly bliss. Ah, if he is truly my son, I know I shall love him madly! MADE.MOISELLE DE VAUDREY. — It WOUld Tuiu yOU ! THE DUCHESS. — Pcrhaps it would. I may have been observed already. An unconquerable force carried me on ; I saw no one but him ; I was bound to have him speak to me. And he did speak tome; he told me his age — just twenty-three — Fernand's exact age — VAUTRIN 17 MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. But the Dukc WaS there, wac> he not? THE DUCHESS. — How could I think of my husband! I listened to this young man as he was talking to Ines de Christoval. I believe they love each other. MADEMOISELLE DE V AUDREY. — What! Ines ! The proposed wife of your son, the Marquis? And do you think the Duke was not struck by. the sight of such favor being shown by you to his son's evident rival? THE DUCHESS. — You are right. I realize now to what danger Fernand is exposed. But I do not want to keep you up any longer. I feel I could talk to you about hira until daybreak. Besides, you will see him soon. I told him to call upon me at an hour when Monsieur de Montsorel is in attendance upon the King, so that we may question him concerning his childhood. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY, — I am afraid you will enjoy but little sleep. Do try and calm yourself. The first thing to do is to send Felicity to bed; she is not accustomed to staying up so late. {She rings the hell.) FELICITY, entering the room. — Monsieur le Due has just reached home with Monsieur le Marquis. THE DUCHESS. — I havc already told you, Felicite,' never to inform me of any matter concerning Mon- sieur, You may retire. {Exit Felicite.) MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY, — I hardly dare touch upon an illusion that gives you so much joy; but when I measure the height to which it has carried you, I dread some horrible fall. Precipitated from such a lofty peak, both soul and body are likely to be crushed together. I repeat it, I tremble for yoix. l8 VAUTRIN THE DUCHESS. — You are afraid of the effects of despair, I am afraid of the excess of my joy. MADEMOISELLE DE \ AUDREY, gaziug ttf the Diickess, who is having the room. — If she finds herself mistaken, it may drive her insane. THE DUCHESS, comiiig back. — Dear Aunt, Fernand is Raoul de Frescas. {She goes from the room.) SCENE II MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY, aloue. — She cannot real- ize that it would take a miracle to restore her son to her. But all mothers believe in just such miracles. She must be closely watched. A look, a word, might ruin her! For, if she were right, and this young man is really her son, she is threatened with a catastrophe more terrible than the disappointment which is prob- ably in store for her. I wonder if she will know how to control herself in the presence of her maids? SCENE III Mademoiselle de Vaudrey. Felicitii. MADAMoisELLi: DE VAUDREY, — Is your mistrcss through with you so soon.' KELiciT^. — Yes, Mademoiselle; Madame la Duchesse was in a great hurry to dispense with my services. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. — She gavc you no special orders for the morning? VAUTRIN 19 FELiciT^. — No, Mademoiselle. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. — Toward noon, a young gentleman named Monsieur Raoul de Frescas, will call upon me. He may possibly ask for the Duchess. Speak to Joseph about it, and tell him to conduct the gentleman to my sitting-room. {S/ie leaves the room.) SCENE IV FELICITY, alone. — A young man for her? I should think not! He's for Madame. I always thought that the withdrawal of the Duchess from society had some hidden motive. She is beautiful, she is rich and the Duke does not love her. To-night is the first time she has been out in a long while; to-morrow a young man is to call upon her and Mademoiselle is appointed to receive him — Well, well, they are concealing some- thing from me — In this house, there are neither con- fidences nor tips. If that's going to be the kind of life for us maids, under this new order of things, I wonder how we are going to get along — {A side door opens and tivo men are seen on the threshold ; the door is closed at once.) Well — We'll see the young man, anyhow. {E.tit Felicite.) SCENE V Joseph. Vautrin. ( Vantrin walks in through the side door, dressed in the evening attire of a diplomat. His overcoat is tan-colored, bordered loith fur and lined with black satin.) 20 VAUTRIN JOSEPH. — The wretched creature! If she had seen us, we would have been ruined. VAUTRIN. — You mean, yoit would have been ruined! So, you are awfully anxious not to get into hot water again, it seems. I suppose you are enjoying angelic peace in this house. JOSEPH. — Well, I find that it pays to be honest. VAUTRIN. — What do you mean by being honest? JOSEPH. — Oh, making just a trifle over and above my wages. VAUTRIN. — I see, I see — You steal often but little at a time ; you are feathering your nest and perhaps enjoying a little usury] on the side. Well, you have no idea how pleased I am to see one of my old acquaintances settled in a most honorable position. Vou are built for it, for you have only a few minor faults, and that's like being half virtuous. Personally, I have had vices, and I regret them, for, alas, they have passed away. All I have left, nowadays, is the excitement of dangers and struggles. After all, it's much like the Indian surrounded by his enemies: I defend my scalp. JOSEPH. — And mine? VAUTRIN. — And yours? Oh, that's so, I remember, I promised you, on the word of a Jacques Collin, never to place you in any compromising situation; but, you are to obey me in everything — JOSEPH. — In everything? That is — VAUTRIN. — Oh, I know the Penal Code — For any risky work, I have the old chums, the faithful friends. By the way, you have been here long? JOSEPH. — Madame la Duchesse engaged me when VAUTRIN 21 she followed His Majesty to Ghent, early last year and I have been trusted by her ever since. VAUTRIN. — That's all right. I need some informa- tion about the Montsorels. What did they tell you? JOSEPH. — Nothing. VAUTRIN. — It's seldom that great people confide in their servants. Now, what have you discovered? JOSEPH. — Nothing. VAUTRIN, aside. — I declare, he is getting honest too fast. Perhaps, after all, he knows nothing. Still, by talking five minutes with a man, I always manage to get some information out of him. [Aloud.) In whose room are we here? JOSEPH, — This is Madame la Duchesse's private drawing-room, and these doors lead to her other apart- ments. The Duke's suite is just above, and the rooms of their only son, the Marquis, are on the floor below with windows on the courtyard. VAUTRIN. — I asked you to procure me the impres- sions of all the keys used in the Duke's private study. Have you got them? JOSEPH, wii/i a show of hesitation. — Here they are. VAUTRIN. — Every time I shall want to enter the premises, you'll find a cross-mark in chalk upon the outside of the garden door — You'll go every evening to look for it — They must be virtuous people here, for I noticed that the hinges were quite rusty. Well, the days of Louis XVIII. are very different from the days of Louis XV. And now, good-by, for the pres- ent, my dear fellow; I'll be back to-morrow night. {Aside.) I must return to my people at the Christoval mansion. 22 VAl'TRIN JOSEPH, aside. — Since this terrible man has discov- ered me, I haven't had a moment's rest — VAUTRIN, refin-)ii>ir/ after having ival/ced io the door. — So the Duke is not living with his wife? josKPH. — They have been on bad terms for the last twenty years. VAUTKiN. — \)o you know why? JOSEPH. — Even their son does not. VAUTRIN. — And the man in your place before you, why did they send him away? JOSEPH. — I don't know. I never met him. In fact, I think the household has been organized as it now is only since the second return of the King. VAUTRIN. — This is one of the results of the new order of things: no more attachment between masters and servants, hence no more confidences, hence no chance of betrayal. {To Joseph.) Do they exchange cutting remarks at the dinner table? josEP}!. — Never in the presence of the serving people. vAUTRi.v. — What is your opinion of your masters between yourselves, in the servants' hall? JOSEPH, — We think the Duchess a saint. VAUTRIN. — And the Duke? JOSEPH. — An utterly selfish man. VAUTRIN. — A statesman, in a word. (Aside.) There must be secrets in his life; we'll have to make use of them. Every great lord has some small pas- sion by which he may be led. If I ever discover what the Duke's pet vice is, his son will have to — {To Joseph.) What do they say of the marriage of the Marquis with Dona Ines de Christoval? JOSEPH. — They never mention it before us. The VAUTRIN 33 Duchess seems to take very little interest in the matter. VAUTRIN. — And he, her only son! That looks hardly natural. JOSEPH. — Between us, I think she cares very little for her son. VAUTRIN. — By Jove, it has been harder to get this piece of information out of you than to pull the cork out of a bottle. So, after all, there is a secret in this house — A Duchess of Montsorel who dislikes her son, and he an only son! — Who is her father-con- fessor? JOSEPH. — She attends to all her devotional exercises in private. VAUTRIN. — Oh, well, I'll know all about her in no time — Secrets are like maidens : the closer they are kept locked up, the more certain they are to escape, I'll place two of my fellows on watch at the door of her parish church; they won't get their salvation, but something else — more useful to me. Good-by. SCENE VI JOSEPH, alone. — Yes, that's an old friend of mine, but, sure as fate he'll be the cause of my losing my situation. If I were not deathly afraid that Jacques Collin would have me poisoned like a dog, I'd go straight away and tell the Duke everything. But, in this world, we all have to take care of ourselves first. I am not going to pay anybody else's score, not I. So I'll let the Duke square accounts with Jacques as best he may. Anyhow it's time to go to bed. Ah, the 24 VAUTRIN Diichcss is moving about. "Whjit is she after, I won- der' I'll listen. [Hr leaves the ruoin hut krrpx the Hoor dightly ajar.) SCENE VII THE DUCHF.ss OF MONTSORF.i., nhiir. — Where can I hide my son's birth-certificate? {She rends olond (in officirxl looking paper she is holding in her hand.) "Valencia, July, 1793 — " Valencia, the city of my life's disaster! There did Fcrnand come into the world just seven months after my wedding-day. To his fatally premature birth was due the most mfamous accusation! {She meditates for a minute.) I know what I shall do — I will ask my aunt to keep this paper in her possession, until I find a secure place for it. The Duke would not hesitate to have my rooms searched, in my absence. He has the whole police of the Kingdom at his disposal. Who would dare refuse anything to a man so high in power? I only hope that Joseph will not see mc visiting Mademoiselle de Vaudrey so late at night — Everybody in the house would talk about it — Ah, what a position to be in! Alone against them all! A prisoner in my own house! SCENE VII The Duchess ok Montsorel. Mademoiselle nE Vaudrf.y. THF. DUCHK-ss. — So, I scc that you find it just as hard to sleep as I do myself? VAUTRIN 25 MADEMOISELLE DE VAUUREY. — No, dear child if I come back to you to-night, it is to try and drive away the dream that is now luring you to a fearful awakening. Louise, I must tear you away from your wild imagin- ings. The more I have thought of what you told me a moment ago, the more I have felt pity for you. It is my duty to tell you the cruel truth. The Duke cer- tainly hurled Fernand so far down the social plane that it is not possible that he should have climbed again to our height. The young man you saw to-night cannot be your son. THE DUCHESS. — But you do not know my Fernand! I know him, and know that wherever he is his life keeps close to mine. I have seen him thousands of times — MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREV. — In your dreams! THE DUCHESS. — Femaud has in his veins the blood of the Vaudreys as well as that of the Montsorels. The position his birth ought to have secured for him, he has managed to reach by conquest; wherever he is, people give way to his prestige. If he entered the army, he is now a colonel. My son is proud, hand- some, beloved by all ! I know that he is loved. Do not contradict me, dear aunt; I tell you, Fernand exists. If he did not, it would mean that the Duke broke his word as a gentleman, and you know that he places too high the virtues of his caste to violate the foremost of them all. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Would UOt hlS hoUOT aS a husband and his thirst for revenge have proved dearer to him than his loyalty to a promise? THE DUCHESS. — Ah, you send cold shivers over me. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Don't yOU kuOW, Louise, that pride of race is as much the heritage of a6 VAUTRIN the house of Montsorel as brilliancy of wit is that of the house of Mortemart? THK DUCHESS. — I kuow it but too Well. The doubt he has harbored as to the legitimacy of his son has driven him almost insane. MADEMOISELLE DE v.^iuDREY. — No, not insaue. His head is cool if his blood is hot. But, when obeying the impulse of their inborn principles, men of his sort act almost as quickly as they think. THE DUCHESS. — But, dear aunt, you know the price he made me pay for my son's life. It was high enough to secure forme, at least, the certainty that it is not endangered. PI ad I persisted in my protestations that I was guiltless, Fernand would have been put to death then and there. I sacrificed my honor for my son's sake. All mothers would have done the same. You were far away, in France, keeping watch over my estates, and I, left to myself, in a strange land, weakened by fever and illness, I lost my head — I have realized, since, that they would never have dared to put their threats into execution. When I consented to such a sacrifice, I knew well enough that Fernand would be a nameless waif wandering, in dire poverty, over countries vmknown to me. But I also knew that he would live and that some day I should meet him, even if I had to search the whole world thnnigh. To-night. I was so excited, that I forgot to place in your care Fernand's birth certificate which the Spanish Ambassadress has at last secured for me. Please keep it on your person, until you have occasion to give it into the hands of your father-confessor. MADEMOISELLE DK VAUDREV. The Dukc mUSt bC aware of the steps you have taken recently in the VAUTRIN 37 matter. Beware of him, for your son's sake! Since he returned from the Embassy, to-night, he has been at work in his study. THE DUCHESS. — If I rcsolve to shake oflE the shame he has tried to put upon me, if I give up my solitary and silent tears, you may be certain that nothing will make me waver. I am no longer in Spain, or England, under absolute control of a diplomat, crafty as a tiger, who, during the whole period of the emigration, spied upon my looks, my gestures, my words, even my silence! Who seemed to read my most inmost thoughts; who surrounded me with ever-watching eyes as within a webb of iron meshes ; who made of my servants as many incorruptible jailers, and who kept me within that most hateful of prisons — an open house. But now I am in France, you are with me again, I hold an office at Court, I can speak. I will find out what has become of the Vicomte de Langeac; I will prove that after the Tenth of August* we never saw each other again, I will tell the King of what crime the heir of two great houses has been the victim — I am a woman, I am the Duchess of Montsorel, I am a mother! You and I are wealthy; we have a virtuous priest as our counselor and guide, and right is on our side! That's why I have secured my son's birth cer- tificate — *By Tenth of August is always meant, by the French. August loth, 1792, the day of the storming by the rabble of the Palace of the Tuileries. 28 VAUTRIN SCENE IX The PRECEDiNf.. The Duke of Montsorel. He has entered luhilc the Duchess is uttering her last words. THE DUKE. — You secufcd this certificate to deliver it to me, Madame. THE DUCHESS. — Sincc whcii, sir, have you presumed to enter my apartments without sending in your name? THE DUKE. — Since you have begun to break our agreement, Madame. You swore never to make any attempt to discover the whereabouts of — your son. That was the absolute condition on which I allowed him to live. THE DUCHESS. — Is it uot more honorable, on my part, to break this promise than to keep all the others? THE DUKE. — Then we are both freed from our compacts. THE DUCHESS. — Havc you respected yours up to this day? THE DUKE. — I have, Madam. THE DUCHESS. — You hear what he says, dear aunt, and will bear witness to it. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. — Has it cvcr entered your mind, sir, that Louise might be guiltless? THE DUKE. — I understand why it is possible for you, Mademoiselle de Vaudrey, to believe her innocent. What would I not give for such a belief Madame has now had twenty years in which to prove herself blameless. THE DUCHESS. — Ycs, for twcnty years you have tor- VAUTRIN 39 tnred my heart pitilessly, relentlessly — Yon are not a judge, yon are an executioner. THE PUKE. — Madame, if you do not give me this cer- tificate, your Fernand will have everything to fear from me. You have procured this document so cjuickly after our return, doubtless, because you want to use it as a weapon against me. You will attempt to secure for your son a name and a fortune that are not his; you are set upon introducing him into a family that has, except in your case, been kept free from stain by virtuous women — a family that has never known a misalliance. THE DUCHESS. — And your son will continue the tradi- tion worthily! THE DUKE. — Imprudent woman! You dare awaken terrible remembrances! And these words of yours are sufficient evidence that you will not hesitate to bring about a scandal that will cover us all with shame. Are we then to expose in the court-room a past which, while it will not leave me unbesmirched, will proclaim your dishonor? [He turns toivard Mademoiselle de VaudreTj.) 1 suppose she never told you the whole story, my dear aunt. She loved the Vicomte de Langeac; I knew it and respected this maidenly attachment. I was so young then! The Vicomte came to me, saying that he felt that he, a younger son and without any fortune, ought, for her own sake to give up all pretensions to Mademoiselle de Vau- drey's hand. Trusting both their honors, I accepted her from him, believing her a pure girl. In those days, I would have given my life for the Vicomte and I proved it. On August loth, in the defense of the Royal Family, the scoundrel acted with such daring .>o VAUTRIN bravery that he was singled out for destruction by the rabble. I had him cared for by one of my agents, but he was discovered and locked up in the Abbaye prison. As soon as I heard of it I gave all the gold I had gath- ered for our flight to a man named Boulard who under- took to save the prisoner by mingling with the butchers in the September massacres. A second time, the Vicomte was rescued from death and through me! {To Jfadaine de \font) 6 VAUTRIN my wife's sudden revolt. I shall know whether Madame de Montsorel has only been deceived by some fancied resemblance or whether she really has met her son. For myself, I have known nothing of his whereabouts for the last twelve years, since my agents reported his disappearance. I feel rather sorry now that I lost my self-control last night. Henceforth, if I appear indifferent, her suspicions will be lulled and her secrets will come out. JOSEPH, enterinfi the room. — Madame la Duchesse has not rung for her maids yet. THE DUKE. — Very well. SCENE II The Precedinc;. Fei.icit>':, [To explain his presence in the room, the Duke examines some articles scattered on the table; luhilc dciny so he finds a letter in a booh.) THi: DUKF, readintj. — "To Mademoiselle Ines de Christoval." {Aside.) Why should my wife hide such a seemingly unimportant letter? She probably wrote it after our quarrel. I wonder if she mentions that fellow Raoul in it? This letter is not going to reach the Christoval mansion. I'ELiciTi':, pickin;! np the same book after the Duke has ijone from the iatjlc, aside. — Where can Madanie's letter be? She must have forgotten where she placed it. iHE DUKE. — Are you looking for a letter? FELiciTJf. — Ah! Yes, Monsieur le Due. THE uuivE. — For this one, perhaps? VAUTRIN 37 FELiciTE. — Yes, Monsieur le Due. THE DUKE. — I am surprised that you should leave Madame la Duchesse just as she is rising; she doubt- less needs your services. FELICITE. — Therese is attending to Madame la Duchesse. Besides, she is sending me on an errand. THE DUKE. — Oh, you dou'l have to render me any account of your orders. SCENE III The Preceding. vSaint-Charles. {Joseph and Saint-Charles walk togethei- from the door al the hack of the stage, studying each other stealth ilg.) JOSEPH, aside. — This man's look makes me uncomfort- able. {To the Duke.) Monsieur le Chevalier de Saint- Charles. {The Duke nods to Saint- Charles loho comes forward.) SAINT-CHARLES, giving a letter to the Duke, aside. — Does he know anything about my real personality or does he want to use me as Saint-Charles? the duke. — My dear fellow — SAINT-CHARLES, asidc. — He is talking to Saint-Charle.<5 all right. THE duke. — You are recommended to me as a man whose cleverness, in a loftier sphere, might be called genius. SAINT-CHARLES. — If MonsicuT le Due grants me an opportunity, he will have no cause to call back such a flattering opinion. THE DUKE. — You shall have the opportunity at once. 38 VAUTRIN SAINT-CHARLES. — What are your orders? THE DUKE. — You noticc that girl, over there? She intends to go out, and I do not want to restrain her. But she must not take a step out of this house until further orders. {CnUing.) Felicit^'! (IIo gives her the letter.) SAINT-CHARLES, aside to Joseph as Felicite leaves the room. — I recognize you, I know everything. If you manage to have this girl remain in this house and secure the letter she holds. I won't call on you further, and will know nothing of the past; in fact, I'll leave you in peace as long as you behave yourself. JOSEPH, aside. — Nice position I am in, between Jacques Collin and this other fellow — Well, I'll have to try and serve them both honestly — {Exit Joseph on Felicite'' s track.) SCENE IV The Duke. Saint-Charles. SAINT-CHARLES. — The matter is already settled. Mon- sieur le Due. Do you want to know the contents of this letter? THE DUKE. — Indeed, you must wield a power both terrible and miraculous. SAINT-CHARLES. — You placc in our hands absolute power; we use it cleverly, that's all. THE DUKE. — And supposing you abuse it? SAiNT-CHARLEs. — Impossiblc ; we should be crushed at once. THE DUKE. — How Can men endowed with such VAUTRIN 39 unique talents be satisfied to practice them in so infe- rior a sphere? SAiNT-CHARLKs. — Everything- combines to prevent us from rising above it. We are the protectors of our protectors. Too many honorable secrets are confided to us, too many shameful ones are hidden from us to allow of any real sympathy. The services we render can only be rewarded with contempt. Our clients v/ant us to consider noble ideas as mere words; as far as we are concerned, delicacy is called foolishness, honor a conventional fiction, treachery a form of diplomacy ! We are supposed to be trustworthy and yet we are left to guess half of what ought to be told us. To think and to act, to unravel the past by means of the present, to order the future in the smallest details, as I was just doing — this is only a hundredth part of our daily program and it would be enough to frighten a man of no mean talent. When the object desired has been obtained, words resume their real meanings. Monsieur le Due, and those we serve begin to suspect that we are nothing but petty, contemptible scamps. THE DUKE. — This may all be quite true, my dear man, but you do not expect, I suppose, to change the world's opinion or my own, for that matter? SAINT-CHARLES. — It would be Very silly on my part, if I did. Besides, it is not the opinion of others that I care to change ; I simply wish my own position modi- fied. THE DUKE. — And you think it would be an easy thing to do? SAINT-CHARLES. — Why not, Monseigneur? Instead of setting me to ferret out family secrets, they would 40 VAUTRIN use mc to spy on ministers of state; instead of devot- ing my time to hunting vulgar criminals, I would attach myself to the steps of wily diplomats; instead of assisting more or less despicable passi(^ns, I would serve the government. My happiness would he to play even the most obscure part in a brilliant perform- ance — And what a devoted servant you would have in me, Monsieur le Due! THE DUKE. — I deeply regret, my dear fellow, that I must make use of your talents in such a narrow field, but you will have a chance to distinguish yourself, and later — well, later we'll see. s.mnt-charlks, n.side. — We'll see. we'll sec — that means it's all seen already. THE nuKK. — I wish to have my son marry — SAiNT-CHARLES. — Mademoiselle Ines de Christoval, Princess of Arjos! A splendid match. The father committed the mistake of serving under Joseph Bona- parte and was banished from Spain by King Ferdi- nand. He may possibly have taken a part in the Mexican revolution. THE DLKK. — Madame de Christoval and her daughter receive in their house an adventurer by the name of — SAiNT-cHARi-KS. — Raoul de Frescas. THE DUKE. — Is there anything you do not know already? SAiNT-CHARi.Es. — If MousicuT le Due prefers it, I'll know nothing. THE DUKE. — On the contrary, speak out, if only to inform me whether there are any secrets you allow lis to keep as our own. SAINT-CHARLES. — With Monseigucur's permission, let us agree on one thing: Whenever my outspoken VAUTRIN 41 Speech proves obnoxious, Monsieur le Due may call me "Chevalier," and I will at once resume my part of a paid observer. THE DUKE. — Proceed, my dear man. (Aside.) These fellows are decidedly amusing. SAINT-CHARLES. — Mottsicur dc Frescas will be entitled to the appellation of adventurer when he is no longer able to live on a footing of one hundred thousand francs a year. THE DUKE. — In the meantime, it will be your duty to pierce the mystery he wraps himself in. SAiNT-CHARLES. — That is not an easy task, Monsieur le Due. Just at present we are obliged to act with extreme care whenever a foreigner is in question. Strangers are ruling Paris and have upset it pretty generally. THE DUKE. — What a plague! SAiNT-CHARLEs. — Does MousieuT le Due belong to the opposition. THE DUKE, — I only wish the King might have been brought back without such an escort. SAINT-CHARLES. — The King would not have had to leave the country last year if the splendid police sys- tem of Bonaparte had not become disorganized. The same state of affairs is now being brought about again by society people! It's bad enough to make one resign in disgust! Our hands are tied so tight by the military police of the invaders that we are prevented from arresting any suspect for fear of taking into cus- tody some German prince mixed up in a love intrigue, or some Margrave befuddled with wine. But we'll do our very best for you, ^lonseigneur. Is this young man known to have any vices? Does he gamble? 4a VAUTRIX iHE DUKK. — He docs, at social gatherinj^s. SAINT-CHARLES. — Uocs hc play fair? THE DUKE. — Monsieur le Chevalier! SAINT-CHARLES. — Then hc must be quite wealthy. THE DUKE. — You will do Well to inform yourself on that point. SAINT-CHARLES. — You must cxcusc me, Monsieur Ic Due; but without knowledge of his weaknesses, we shall discover little of importance. Will Monseigncur kindly tell mc whether this young man is sincerely in love with Mademoiselle de Christoval? THE DUKE. — With a princess, an heiress! Why, this question makes me almost doubt you? SAiNT-CHARLEs. — Has not Monscigueur told me that we had to deal with a very young man? Besides, feigned love is more perfect in its outward manifesta- tions than genuine love. That's the reason so many women are deceived by it. He must have had to break with some sweetheart, and a freed heart frees the tongue. THE DUKE. — Take care, sir! Your task is not a com- mon one; you ought not to mix any woman's affairs with it. The slightest indiscretion will lose you my good will. Everything that concerns Monsieur de Frescas must die a secret between you and me. The silence I am thus exacting from you must include your assistants and your employers as well. Finally, you will be a ruined man if Madame de Montsorel dis- covers one of the steps you are about to take. SAINT-CHARLES. — Docs Madame de Montsorel show any interest in tliis young man? The girl who just went out, is her maid; am I to watch the mistress as well? VAUTRIN 43 THE DUKE, — Monsieur le Chevalier, to give you such an order would be unworthy of me; to ask such a question is unworthy of you. SAINT-CHARLES. — Monsieur le Due, I see that we understand each other perfectly. What is then to be, at the beginning, the principal object of my inquiries? THE DUKE.— Find out if Raoul de Frescas is the man's real name; discover his birthplace; unearth every little detail of his life and hold all the informa- tion thus gathered as a state secret. SAINT-CHARLES. — You need give me only until to-mor- row to find out all this, Monseigneur. THE DUKE. — That's a short enough time. SAiNT-CHARLES. — It is, but then, I'll need a great deal of money. THE DUKE. — You must not think that I have any wish to be told bad things about this man. Men of your trade are so accustomed to serving passions instead of enlightening them, that you often prefer to invent ugly stories rather than to come back empty- handed. Personally, I shall be delighted to hear that this young man belongs to a family — {Enter the Marquis; seeing Ms father busy he makes a movement as if to withdraio ; by a gesture, the Duke invites him to stay.) SCENE IV The Preceding. The Marquis. THE DUKE, continuing. — Should Monsieur de Frescas be of noble birth, should the Princess prefer him to my son, the Marquis shall withdraw his suit. 44 VAUTRIN THF. MARQUIS. — But I lovc Incs, sir. THE DUKE, to Sniuf -CJiavlcs. — You may go, sir. SAINT-CHARLES, asi'dc. — So lic is not particularly interested in this match for his son ; he certainly is not jealous of his wife; there must be something of the greatest importance in the matter! Either I am a ruined man or my fortune is made. {Exit Saint- Charles.) SCENE VI The Duke. The Marquis. THE DIKE. — To marry a woman who does not love you is a mistake you shall never commit, Albert, as long as I am alive. THE MARQUIS. — But I havc uo proof yet, sir, that Ines is adverse to my suit. Besides, once she is my wife it will be my business to make her love me, and, with- out conceit, I think I can manage that part of the affair. THE DUKE. — Allow me to say, my son, that this (juardsman's view of the case is essentially in bad form. THE MARQUIS. — On any other subject, sir, your word would be a law to me ; but each epoch has its own way of making lovc. In the meantime, I beg of you, hasten the conclusion of my marriage arrangements. Like all only daughters, Ines has a somewhat willful dispo- sition , and the complacency with which she accepts the attentions of an adventurer ought to alarm you. I must say that I find you, this morning, inconceivably VAUTRIX 45 indifferent on the subject. Leaving aside my love for Ines, is it probable that I could easily find a better match? I shall become a Grandee of Spain, as you are yourself, and besides, I shall have the title of Prince. Are these things not to your liking, father? THE DUKE, aside. — Will the blood of his mother never cease to manifest itself in him? How Louise did divine the manner in which he wounds me! (Aloitd.) You ought to remember, sir, that there is no more glorious title than that of Duke of Montsorel. THE MARQUIS. — Havc I offended you, sir? ' THE DUKE. — Enough about it! You forget that I engineered this marriage during my stay in wSpain. Besides, Madame de Christoval cannot give away Ines in marriage without the father's consent. Mexico has just proclaimed its independence and this explains sufficiently the delay in Monsieur de Christoval's answer to his wife's communication on the subject. THE MARQUIS. — Well thcu, sir, your plans will be foiled. Did you not notice what happened, last night, at the Spanish Embassy? My mother took this Raoul de Frescas under her open patronage, and Ines was evidently pleased. Do you know what thought, long dormant within me, was brought forth by this incident : my mother hates me ! And shall I tell you, you who love me, I believe I have no feeling in my heart for her! THE DUKE, aside. — I am truly reaping what I sowed. Hatred is just as sure a revealer of truth as love itself! (Aloud.) It does not behoove you to judge your mother ; you are not able to understand her. She has noticed in me too blind a.n affection for you, and she wants her show of severity to make up for it. Let it 46 * VAUTRIN be the last time that I hear j'ou speak in that way. To-day, you are on duty at the castle ; go there at once. I'll get you leave of absence for to-night, so that you may have a chance of paying court to Princess of Arjos in the ball-room. THK MARQUIS. — Bcforc gojng, may I call upon my mother and beg her to assist me with Ines, who, I know, is to visit her to-day? THE DUKE. — You may ask whether she is visible. I am waiting to see her myself. {Exit the Marquis.) All at once everytliing seems to be against me. Yes- terday the Spanish Ambassador asked me where my elder son died ; last night his mother appeared to believe she had found him again; just now the son of Juana Mendes managed to wound me to the quick! Ah, I feel that instinctively the Princess has taken his measure. Laws can never be violated with impunity, nature is even more merciless than society. Shall I be strong enough, even with the King's assistance, to lead events the way they ought to go? SCEN1-: VII The Duke. Thk Duchess or Moxtsorel. The Mar(^uis. the duchess. — A thousand pardons! Albert, I am favored, indeed. What a surprise! You come here, just to kiss your mother before going to your duties at the castle! And you do it solely out of filial affection! Ah, if a mother ever could doubt her son's love, this outburst — and you have not spoiled me with many like VAUTRIN 47 it — would remove all anxiety, and so I must thank you again for it. At last, we understand each other. THE MARQUIS. — These words make me very happy, mother. If I have appeared somewhat remiss in my duties toward you, it has been due solely to my fear of displeasing you. THE DUCHESS, to the DuTce. — Ah, I understand now — {To the Marquis.) To you, good-by. I hear that the King is growing quite strict with his household guard ; I would be grieved to cause you to be repri- manded. THE DUKE, — Why send him away when Tnes is expected? THE DUCHESS. — I don't expect her; I wrote to her a few moments ago. SCENE VIII The Preceding. Joseph. JOSEPH, announcing. — Madame la Duchesse de Chris- toval. Mademoiselle la Princesse D'Arjos! THE DUCHESS, asidc. — What an awful complication! THE DUKE, to kis SOU. — Stay here. I'll arrange mat- ters at the castle. We are being deceived. SCENE IX The Preceding. The Duchess of Christoval. The Princess of Arjos. the duchess of montsorel. — Ah, Madame, it is most gracious on your part to forestall my visit. 48 VAUTRIN THE DUCHESS OF CHRisTovAL. — I Came to provc to you that no question of etiquette is ever to stand between us. THE DUCHESS OF MONTsoREL, a.si'cle to fues. — Vou havc not read my letter then? Ines. — I just received it from one of your maids, in this house. THE DUCHESS OF MONTSOREL, /o herself. — Then I may expect Raoul here at any moment, THE DUKE, to tilt Duchess of C'hristoral, as he leads her to the sofa. — Is it permissible for us to consider this informal visit as the beginning of a family intimacy? THE DUCHESS OF CHRISTOVAL. — Do uot let US give such importance to what I find a most pleasant incident. THE .MARcjuis. — Are you then so afraid, Madame, to give my hopes some encouragement? Was I not made miserable enougli, yesterday? Mademoiselle granted me nothing, not even a look. iNES. — I did not think, sir, that I should have occa- sion to meet you so soon again. I believed you on duty, at this time of day; but I am happy to be given this chance of defending myself; in fact, I only saw you as we were leaving the ball-room, and my excuse {I'uintinu at Madame ut the Marquis has picked up a newspaper on the table and affects not to see Raaul.) iHK DUKE. — I must confess, Monsieur de Fresoas, that I did not expect to meet you here; still I am pleased to see the interest Madame de Montsorel takes in you, since it gives me the occasion of seeing a young man whose debut has met with such brilliant success. You are one of those rivals of whom one may feel proud when victor, and not ashamed when vanquished. RAOUL. — Anywhere but in your own house, Monsieur le Due, the excessiveness of this praise, of which I am unworthy, might be regarded as ironical; but here it is impossible to consider it except as a courteous way of welcoming me {looking toward the .\fart/uis whose back is turned to him) where I might otherwise think myself undesired. THE OLKK. — On the contrary, your visit is i[uite timely; we were just speaking of your family and of the old Commander de Frescas, whom Madame and 1 knew intimately a few years ago. RAOUL. — So, you did me the honor of mentioning me; such an honor is generally accompanied by a little harmless gossip. lilt DUKE. — (Jne can gossip only concerning ])eo])le one knows all about, THE DUCHESS OK CHRisTovAL. — And we sltould feel VAUTRIN 53 delighted if yoii gave iis the right of gossiping about you. RAOUL. — It is certainly to my interest to remain in your good graces. THE DUCHESS OF MONTSORF.L. — I think I know of a sure means of securing this end. RAOUL. — And it is? THE DUCHESS OF MONTSORF.L. — To remain the myste- rious personage you are now. THE MARQUIS, laying doiun his neivspaper and iurninif round. — Here is something interesting, ladies; at the Field-Marshal's party, which you certainly attended, they caught one of these so-called foreign noblemen in the act of cheating at cards. iNEs. — Is that the news that has been absorbing your attention? RAOUL. — In these days, who is not a foreigner? THE MARQUIS. — Mademoiselle, the news interested me only as a proof of the inconceivable facility with which people we know nothing about gain entrance into society. THE DUCHESS of MONTSOREL, aside. — Do they intend to insult him in my own drawing-room? UAOUL. — If we are to be suspicious of persons of whom we know little, there are other people, of whom we know too much, after the slightest acquaintance. THE DUKE. — x\lbert, how can this possibly interest you? Do we ever receive any one without knowing all about his family? RAOUL. — Monsieur le Due knows all about mine. THE DUKE. — You are in Madame de Montsorel's drawing-room, and that's enough for me. We know too well what we owe you to give you a possible excuse 54 VAUTRIN for forgetting what you owe us. The name of Frescas is a guarantee and you bear it worthily. THE DUCHESS OF CHRISTOVAL, tO RdOUl. 1 wish yOU would tell us now who you are, if not for your sake, at least for that of your friends. RAOUL. — I should be much concerned if my presence here were the occasion of the slightest discussion. But, as certain precautions of speech are apt to wound as deeply as the most direct questioning, I should pre- fer that this fencing come to an end, as it is unworthy of you or of me. Madame la Duchesse certainly did not invite me to her home to have me submitted to such interrogatories. I recognize in no one the right of calling me to account for a silence I consider it best to preserve. THE MARQUIS. — But you Icavc us the right of inter- preting this silence, do you not? RAOUL, — If I claim freedom for my conduct, I surely have no right to chain yours. THE DUCHESS OF .MONTSOREL, tO lluoill. YoU UlUSt not answer, sir; your dignity is at stake. THE DUKE. — You are a noble young man; you have the natural distinction of a gentleman; but do not run against the world's inquisitiveness; it is the safeguard of all of us. Your sword caVinot close the mouth of all questioners, and society, generous as it is toward all true modesty is pitiless in its treatment of unjustified pretensions. RAOUL. — Sir — THE DUCHESS OF MONTSOKKL, spcakiug lu Jiuuul rapulltj and low. — Do not say a word about your childhood, leave Paris and let me be the only one to know your retreat. Your whole future is at stake. VAUTRIN 55 THE DUKE. — I wish to bc youT friend, although you are my son's rival. Grant me your confidence; I am honored by that of the King. Tell me, how do you happen to belong to the house of Frescas, which we all thought extinct? RAOUL. — Monsieur le Due, you are too powerful to lack for prot^gds ; I am not weak enough to need a protector. THE DUCHESS OB' cHRisTovAL. — I hopc, sir, that you will bear me no ill-will, if I tell you that, as a mother, the conclusion of this conversation has convinced me that it would be imprudent to admit you too often into the Christoval mansion. iNES, to Raoul. — One word from you would save the situation, and you keep silent! There is something, then, that you love better than you do me? RAOUL. — Ines, I could have stood everything but this reproach! {Aside.) Ah, Vautrin, why did you compel me to close my lips? {He bozvs to the ladies. To the Duchess of Montsorel.) You owe me my happiness. THE DUCHESS OF MONTSOREL. — Obey mc, and I will answer for the result. RAOUL, to the Margiiis. — I am at your disposal, sir. THE MARQUIS. — Until wc meet again. Monsieur Raoul. RAOUL. — De Frescas, if you please. THE MARQUIS. — Dc Frcscas, let it be. {Exit Raoul.) SCENE XI The Preceding, mimis Raoul. THE DUCHESS OF MONTSOREL, to the Duchess of ChHs- toval. — You have shown yourself very severe. 56 VAUTRIN THE DUCHESS OF cHRisTdVAi,. — Yoli afc not awafc, perhaps, Madame, that, for the last three months, this younji: man has been found wherever my daughter and I have happened to call, and that our treatment of him may not have been very wise. THE DUKE, to iJic Duchcss of Cliristovfil. — One might take him for a prince in disguise. THE MARQUIS. — Might lie not be, rather, a man of no account masquerading as a prince? THE DUCHESS OF MONTSOREL. — Your father could tell you, sir, that such disguises arc not easy to wear. iNES. — A man of no account, did you say, sir? Do you not know that persons of our class may be raised to a higher sphere, but are incapable oC dropping lower. THE DUCHESS OF CHRisTOVAi.. — What arc you saying, Ines? INES. — He is not here now, mamma. ICither he was out of his wits, or these gentlemen kicked in gener- osity. THE DUCHESS OF CHKISTOVAL, U) tllC, DucJlCSS (if Monl- xorel. — I realize, Madame, that no explanation is pos- sible now, especially in Monsieur de Montsorel's presence; but our honor is concerned and I shall expect your early visit. THE DUCHESS OF MONTSOR KI.. — I shall Call UpOH yoU to-morrow. {The hnkx of }font$orcl escorts to the door the DtirJiess of CkriKtoval and her dnut/htcr. The Duchess of Mont sor el follows. ) VAUTRIN 57 SCENE XII The Duke. Thf. Marquis. THK MARQUIS. — It strikcs me, sir, that the visit of this adventurer, caused you, as well as luy mother, a violent emotion. It did not look as if a mere mar- riage scheme hung in the balance but, as if your very existences were endangered — I saw that the Duchess of Christoval and her daughter went away deeply impressed — THE DUKE. — Ah, why did they come to witness such a discussion? THE MARQUIS. — Then you, also, are interested in that fellow Raoul? THE DUKE. — And what of you? I tell you that your name, your future, your marriage prospects, every- thing that makes life worth living, all this, and more, has been at stake before your very eyes. THE MARQUIS.— If all that depends upon this young man, you may be assured that I will rid us of him in short order. THE DUKE. — A duel, wrctchcd boy! If it were your sad luck to kill him, then, indeed, would the game be lost ! THE MARQUIS. — Then, what shall I do? THE DUKE. — Act like a diplomat — await develop- ments. THE MARQUIS. — But if )''ou are in any peril, sir, do you want me to remain unmoved? THE DUKE. — Leave me to carry this burden, my son; it would crush you. 58 VAUTRIX THE MARQUIS. — But you vvill spcak, sir, you will tell mc — THE DUKE. — I will tell you nothing. It would bring too deep a blush upon my cheek and yours. SCENE xin The Precedinc. Vautrin, he is dressed iv black and bears a most devout and humble appearance dur- ing the greatest part of the scene. vautrin. — You must pardon me, Monsieur le Due, for entering thus unannounced, but {he speaks close to the Duke\