Emile.  Yes, in the kitchen.

Jeanne.  And think of it, he has never asked me to come with him.

Emile.  Well, that’s rather to his credit, and it shows he has some respect for the mother of his child.  The women over there are a queer lot.

Jeanne.  Is that so?

Emile.  But Maurice never pays any attention to the women.  There is something square about that fellow.

Jeanne.  That’s what I feel about him, too, but as soon as there is a woman in it, a man isn’t himself any longer.

Emile. [Smiling] You don’t tell me!  But listen:  are you hard up for money?

Jeanne.  No, nothing of that kind.

Emile.  Well, then the worst hasn’t come yet—­Look!  Over there! 
There he comes.  And I’ll leave you.  Good-bye, little girl.

Jeanne.  Is he coming?  Yes, that’s him.

Emile.  Don’t make him mad now—­with your jealousy, Jeanne! [Goes out.]

Jeanne.  No, I won’t.

(Maurice enters.)

Marion. [Runs up to him and is lifted up into his arms] Papa, papa!

Maurice.  My little girl! [Greets Jeanne] Can you forgive me,
Jeanne, that I have kept you waiting so long?

Jeanne.  Of course I can.

Maurice.  But say it in such a way that I can hear that you are forgiving me.

Jeanne.  Come here and let me whisper it to you.

(Maurice goes up close to her.)

(Jeanne kisses him on the cheek.)

Maurice.  I didn’t hear.

(Jeanne kisses him on the mouth.)

Maurice.  Now I heard!  Well—­you know, I suppose that this is the day that will settle my fate?  My play is on for tonight, and there is every chance that it will succeed—­or fail.

Jeanne.  I’ll make sure of success by praying for you.

Maurice.  Thank you.  If it doesn’t help, it can at least do no harm—­Look over there, down there in the valley, where the haze is thickest:  there lies Paris.  Today Paris doesn’t know who Maurice is, but it is going to know within twenty-four hours.  The haze, which has kept me obscured for thirty years, will vanish before my breath, and I shall become visible, I shall assume definite shape and begin to be somebody.  My enemies—­which means all who would like to do what I have done—­will be writhing in pains that shall be my pleasures, for they will be suffering all that I have suffered.

Jeanne.  Don’t talk that way, don’t!

Maurice.  But that’s the way it is.

Jeanne.  Yes, but don’t speak of it—­And then?

Maurice.  Then we are on firm ground, and then you and Marion will bear the name I have made famous.

Jeanne.  You love me then?

Maurice.  I love both of you, equally much, or perhaps Marion a little more.