not—I do not know myself—what the result might be. When I think of the future, I grow giddy. (In a low, eager voice) I adore you! I adore you!

(During the last words Nourvady has come on to the stage again. He has looked at John and Lionnette. He takes his hat; Godler and Trévelé follow him.)

Lionnette.

Do not speak so low; you could be heard.

John.

Kiss me, then.

Lionnette.

You wish me to kiss you. Here?

John.

Here.

Lionnette.

Before everybody?

John.

Before him.

Lionnette.

The same subject. Take care! You are doing him a great honour.

John.

It is an idea that I have.

Lionnette.

You would like it?

John.

Yes.

Lionnette.

You know well you must not dare me to anything.

John.

I implore you.

Lionnette.

Once, twice, three times (kissing him on both cheeks). So much the worse for you. There!

Godler (laughing.)

Ah! my friends, ah! You have decidedly a manner of your own of receiving.

The Servant (entering).

Some one wants to see the Count.

Godler.

Too late, my man, too late! He ought to have come a minute earlier.

The Servant.

I beg your pardon, Sir?

Godler.

Go, go! It would be too long to explain.

John (to the Servant).

Who wants to see me?

The Servant.

It is a clerk of Mr. Richard.

John.

Very well, I will go to him. (To Godler and to Trévelé) I am coming back immediately.

Godler.

Don't study us.

(Godler and Trévelé accompany John to the room at the end, where they remain some moments talking in sight of the public; and, when John is gone away, they remain there, walking up and down, during the scene between Lionnette and Nourvady.)

Nourvady (goes towards Lionnette, hat in hand).

Adieu, Countess.

Lionnette.

Are you going to leave us?

Nourvady.

Yes, your house is in a visible agitation. There is less indiscretion in perceiving it than in remaining.

Lionnette.

When shall we see you again?

Nourvady.

Never!

Lionnette.

You are going away?

Nourvady.

No; but I shall come here no more.

Lionnette (laughing).

You did not enjoy your dinner?

Nourvady.

Do me the honour of listening to me to the end.

Godler (to Trévelé, on seeing Lionnette seat herself again, and Nourvady approach her.)

That's well! With the other now.

Nourvady.

I love you (Lionnette makes a movement). You know it; and you ought to have foreseen that I should one day tell you so.

Lionnette.

Yes; it is only five minutes ago that my husband and I were speaking about it.

Nourvady.

Do not laugh. You may tell by the tone of my voice that I am very serious. I love you passionately. You do not love me; you do not even think of me. It is probable that you will never love me. I possess nothing of all the essentials to tempt a woman like yourself—except a fortune.

Lionnette (rising to retire).

Sir!

Nourvady.

Have patience! I am not capable of failing in respect towards you, as I love you. You are ruined—irreparably ruined. You can accept, it is true, the proposals that Madame Spadetta has had made to you, and free yourself in that manner. There would be no longer debt, but there would be straitened circumstances, and, perhaps, misery. Without counting that, it would be a great grief for you to give up, for ever, certain letters; a grief that whoever loves you ought to spare you.

Lionnette (re-seating herself).

How do you know that?

Nourvady.

With money one knows all one wants to know, especially when Madame Spadetta is able to furnish all the information one requires. Do you remember, Countess, that one day, some months ago, passing through the Champs Elysées with your husband and me, you remarked at No. 20 a private house that was nearly finished.

Lionnette.

Yes.

Nourvady.

You admired then the exterior elegance of that house. That was sufficient to induce me to resolve that no man should inhabit it;—another time you might have looked mechanically in passing on that side, and the proprietor at his window might have imagined that it was at him the lovely Countess of Hun was looking. I have bought that house, and I have had it furnished as elegantly as possible. If, in a year, in two years, in ten years, if—to-morrow—circumstances force you to sell this house where we are at this moment, think of that house in the Champs Elysées that no one has ever yet inhabited. The carriages are waiting in the coach-houses, the horses in the stables, the footmen in the ante-rooms. The little door that this key opens is only for you. (He shows a little key.) That door you will easily recognize: your monogram is on it. From the moment you cross it, if you cross the threshold one day, you will not even have the trouble of opening another with it; all the doors will be open in the way that leads to your apartment. In the drawing-room is an Arabian coffer of marvellous workmanship; this coffer contains a million in gold, struck on purpose for you: it is virgin gold, such as gold ought to be that your little hands deign to touch. You can make use of all in this coffer; when it is empty it will fill itself again—it is a secret. The deeds which confer upon you the ownership of this house are deposited in one of the cabinets in the drawing-room. You will have only to