Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/259

 .―You desire to console me. Do you not feel, what bitterness there is for me in the very thought that you presume to hope?

(supplicating).―Mathilde !

.―Do not approach me, sir. I detest and despise you.

.―Mathilde, pity me! (Comes down R.) Must I, then, abandon her to this terrible despair that is killing her?

.―What is the matter? Why do you torment the poor young lady?

.―I wish to console her.

.―But she won't be consoled. Excuse me, Monsieur Lucien, but you have no right to fall in love with Mamzelle Mathilde.

.―You are right, Noel, and I must try to forget her. (Rises.)

.―Besides, there are lots of other pretty girls in the world. What's the use of hanging on after one who doesn't care about you?

.―Yes, I will leave here to-night.

(dissatisfied).―Leave here! What for?

.―She hates the sight of me.

.―Well, there are others who don't.

.―What do you mean?

.―I mean that there are people to whom the sight of you is extremely agreeable. To me, for example; and to Madame; and to Mamzelle Blanche, too. Ah! she'll be a treasure for somebody!

.―Yes, she will be a very handsome woman―

.―Will be! (Aside.) I wonder what his notion of a pretty woman is?

.―She is very amiable and sensible, too.

.―That she is, and well educated, and such a lively disposition when there's no sorrow on her heart, poor thing. Ah! if somebody should endeavour to console her, I don't think he'd get the sack. (A pause―aside.) The great booby doesn't understand.

(up stage).―Noel, I shall be in Bordeaux to-morrow.

.―What! You leave me, then, to look after three women in despair?

.―If anything serious should happen, send for me at once. Old friendship almost makes me one of the family.

.―There are several ways of being one of the family.

(coming down).―Yes, close association, time-honoured intimacy―

(aside). What a stupid dolt!

.―Adrien treated me always as a brother, and I will be a son to his mother.

.―Just what I most desire.

.―Now I must go get ready to leave this evening.

.―Poor fellow; it's not his fault if he doesn't see that our little Blanche is in love with him, though, I must confess, I do wonder at it myself. But then, women are such a funny lot; luckily, I never troubled my head about any of them.

Ah! here she comes―and crying again, of course. What is the matter now, Mamzelle Blanche? You promised me not to cry any more. (He closes door C.)

{sc|Blanche}}.―I can't help it. Do you remember that lovely tea rose, that my poor brother planted last summer? Well, it is