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قراءة كتاب The Romance of a Poor Young Man A Drama Adapted from the French of Octave Feuillet
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The Romance of a Poor Young Man A Drama Adapted from the French of Octave Feuillet
id="pgepubid00018">END OF TABLEAU I.
TABLEAU II.
A Saloon with bay windows opening on a Terrace, from which steps descend to lawn and grounds at back—Piano, R. U. E.—Books, Papers, Vases, &c., &c.
De Bevannes, Dr. Desmarets, Mad. Laroque, Marguerite, Mademoiselle Helouin, Mad. Aubrey discovered. As Curtain rises, M. De Bevannes is conversing with several young ladies on the terrace at back. Desmarets reading paper, L. C. Madame Laroque wrapped in furs, L. reading a book. Marguerite near her mother, at tapestry work. Madame Aubrey, R. C. knitting. Mad'lle Helouin arranging flowers in vase, R. Great talking and laughing from the party on the terrace as the curtain rises.
Bevannes. Very well, very well, young ladies, if you insist upon it. The ladies are determined on a waltz on the terrace.
Madame Laroque. What! in the broiling sun?
Bev. The roses do not fear the sun. Why should the lilies?
Ladies [all courtesey.] Oh, how pretty.
Bev. Yes, rather neat, I think. [To Marguerite] Mademoiselle, may I hope for the honor?
Mar. Thank you. Despite your pretty speech, I confess to a fear of waltzing in the sun. But I'll play for you with pleasure.
[Goes towards Piano, R.
Bev. [Aside to her.] Always cruel. [To M'lle Helouin,] Mademoiselle, may I request the pleasure?
Mlle Helouin. Oh! certainly.
Bev. [Aside to her.] Ever kind.
[Marguerite plays—they waltz and gradually disappear.
Mad. L. Have you seen my new conservatory, Doctor?
Des. No, Madame.
Mad. L. Well, I must show it to you, if I can drag myself so far.
Des. Drag? Why, good gracious! You're the picture of health this morning—fresh as a rose.
Mad. L. Fresh? Frozen. It's a curious fact, Doctor, that since I left the Antilles, twenty years ago, I have never yet known what it was to feel comfortably warm.
Des. That accounts for your continued good looks. Consult your Cookery Book, page 18. If you want to preserve things fresh, you must keep them cold. And you, Madame, [To Madame Aubrey] how do you find yourself?
Madame Aubrey. Very weak, Doctor. I ate a tolerable breakfast this morning.
Des. [Aside.] You may say that. Three eggs and a broiled chicken.
Mad. A. And I feel a fullness—
Des. [Aside.] I should think so.
Mad. A. In the head.
Des. Ah!
Mad. A. The fact is, Doctor, I am subject to such continual chagrin, such cruel mortifications here. Dependent upon others for certain luxuries which I can't get for myself.
Des. Why not?
Mad. A. Things are so dear. Ah, Doctor, nothing will soothe me but death.
Des. Well, that's cheap!
Mad. A. Brute!
[Aside.
Mar. [at Piano.] Here they come again.
She plays. The waltzers appear on terrace. In the midst of this dancing, Manuel comes up steps, as if from lawn below. They separate R. and L. and regard him with some astonishment. He has a portfolio under his arm.
Mar. Well, why don't you go on?
Des. [Aside.] At last, [aloud.] Madame Laroque, permit me to present to you, M. Manuel, the new Steward.
Mad. Laroque rises and salutes Manuel, at the same time ringing a bell. A servant enters and goes to Manuel, taking from him a small portmanteau, which he carries off. Marguerite goes over to L. of Mad. Laroque.
Bev. Rather a stylish looking steward!
Mad. L. Why, Doctor, what does this mean? You promised a quiet, simple, steady young man, and you bring me a fine gentleman like this.
As Manuel comes down R. C., Mad'lle Helouin sees him.
Mlle. H. [Aside.] It is the Marquis de Champcey!
[Goes up to ladies.
Mad. Aubrey—Manuel—Desmarets—Bevannes—Mad. Laroque—Mademoiselle Helouin—Marguerite.
Mad. L. Pardon, sir, you are Monsieur—
Man. Manuel, Madame.
Mad. L. The new Steward?
Man. Yes, Madame.
Mad. L. You are quite sure?
Des. [Aside.] That's not bad.
Man. Madame!
Bev. The lady wishes to know whether you are yourself.
Man. I have always been under that impression, sir.
[Bevannes goes up.
Des. [Aside.] The conversation is becoming brilliant—I'll leave them to enjoy it.
[Exit at back—Bevannes comes down to Marquis.
Mad. L. Sir, we are indebted to you for devoting your talents to our service; we really require them, for we have the misfortune to be immensely rich.
Mad. A. Misfortune, dear?
Mad. L. Yes, love; wealth is a heavy burthen.
Mad. A. But a very pleasant one.
Mad. L. You'd find it hard to bear, dear.
Mad. A. I should like to try, darling.
Mad. L. I feel that I was born for the devotion and self-sacrifice entailed by poverty. Ah! my dear Bevannes, should I not have made an excellent Sister of Charity?
Bev. You are already the next thing to it, Madame?
Mad. L. How so?
Bev. [Indicating Marguerite.] The mother of goodness.
Mar. Oh, sir.
Mad. L. But do you not agree with me?
Bev. In what?
Mad. L. That wealth is a heavy responsibility.
Bev. Doubtless. But then you have the comfort of knowing that there are always some devoted friends willing to relieve you.
Mad. L. [Rings.] But my fortune is not mine to dispose of—for my duty obliges me to preserve it for my child.
Enter Alain.
Alain, show this gentleman to his apartments—but first, you must be introduced to my father-in-law. Ask if Monsieur Laroque can see the gentleman. [Exit Alain—Manuel up stage.] And now, we will take a stroll to the conservatory. What has become of that horrid doctor? [As she rises, her shawl falls off—Manuel comes