Scene: The same as Act Two. A year after.
JACQUES is seated alone, smoking and meditating. GEORGES, his man, inters at back, bringing a letter which he gives to JACQUES. The latter inspects the envelope and seems surprised.
JACQUES: Who brought this letter?
GEORGES: A maid, monsieur. She is waiting for an answer. [He walks to back and waits near the door. JACQUES opens and reads the letter. After a few moments of thought, he rises, crosses to his desk, takes a sheet of paper and starts writing. ]
JACQUES: For what time did madame order the car?
GEORGES: Three o’clock, monsieur. [JACQUES looks at watch, finishes letter, slips it into an envelope and hands it to GEORGES.]
JACQUES: There. [GEORGES goes out. JACQUES again picks up the letter he has received, re-reads it, then carries it to his nose, inhales its scent and smiles. IRENE appears at the right. JACQUES puts letter in his pocket. Her hat is on and she is ready to go out. She has in her hand a bundle of samples of materials for hangings. ]
IRENE: You didn’t tell me which of these samples you preferred. This one—this—or that?
JACQUES: It’s for your own room. You’d better choose it yourself.
IRENE: But I want you to like it.
JACQUES: I’ll like whichever one you choose.
IRENE: Well, at least you might tell me which one you prefer.
JACQUES: But I approve your choice in advance—
IRENE: Oh! How annoying of you!
JACQUES: Are you going out?
IRENE: Yes, I must go to the decorator’s, and to the painter’s. Then at three-thirty, I have an appointment at Praxine’s studio to have another look at little landscape that I saw the other day. Don’t you want to come?
JACQUES: I can’t.
IRENE: You’ll have to see it some time.
JACQUES: What for?
IRENE: I’m certainly not going to buy a picture as pensive as that without your having seen it.
JACQUES: You don’t need my advice. I don’t know anything about painting. If you like the picture, buy it, that’s all.
IRENE: Can’t you really come? I’ll pass by here with the car and pick you up. It won’t take more than twenty minutes altogether.
JACQUES: I can’t, I tell you. I’m waiting for some one.
IRENE: Who?
JACQUES: Oh, just—a caller.
IRENE: At what time?
JACQUES: At half-past three.
IRENE: Will it take long?
JACQUES: That I don’t know. [Telephone rings. He rises, takes up receiver.] Hullo ... yes... who is it please?... Oh! Just a minute. [To IRENE.] Praxine wants to speak to you.
IRENE: [At telephoned.] Hullo ... Oh, hullo, how do you do?.. Why of course I haven’t forgotten... at half-past three, yes... All right! What?... No, he is so sorry, but he has an appointment and won’t be able to come. I’ll be there. [She hags up receiver.] He asked me to be on time, because he has to leave. [Pause] Well then?
JACQUES: Well then what?
IRENE: May I really buy the picture if I still like it much as I did?
JACQUES: Why, of course.
IRENE: You’re a darling. But, you know, I really think it’s a good buy. Praxine never gets less than twenty-five thousand francs for his smallest canvases and he’s giving me this for fifteen thousand—just because it’s I.
JACQUES: That’s splendid.
IRENE: I do so hope you’ll like it, but I warn you, it’s extremely modern. You may think it’s horrible—
JACQUES: Of course I won’t. What time will you be back?
IRENE: Oh, not late. I have to stop and send some books to Gisele; she writes me she has nothing to read. That’s all. I’ll be back here for tea.
JACQUES: If by any chance the person I’m expecting should still be here when you return, would you mind not coming in?
IRENE: No, of course not.
JACQUES: I’d rather you didn’t meet.
IRENE: Oh! Why not?
JACQUES: I don’t think either you or she would enjoy it much.
IRENE: Ah! [Pause.] Can’t you tell me who it is?
JACQUES: Does it interest you?
IRENE: Well, really!—After what you’ve just told me.
JACQUES: It’s a very charming woman, towards whom I behaved very shabbily.
IRENE: [Searching in her mind .]A woman toward whom—Madame Meillant?
JACQUES: Exactly.
IRENE: No? How funny!
JACQUES: Isn’t it?
IRENE: She’s coming to see you?
JACQUES: I wrote, asking her to call. Whether she’ll come or not, I don’t know.
IRENE: But why is she coming?
JACQUES: Here. [He hands her the letter he has just received.]
IRENE: [After having read it.] What are the letters she mentions?
JACQUES: The letters she wrote me while—that she wrote me last year.
IRENE: Hadn’t you given them back to her?
JACQUES: No. We left Paris in such a hurry a year ago that I didn’t have time, and since our return I haven’t given it a thought.
IRENE: [smiling.] Poor thing. [Gives him back letter.]
JACQUES: [Putting it on the desk.] You don’t mind receiving her here?
IRENE: Why no, not at all.
JACQUES: That’s what I thought.
IRENE: Why should I mind?
JACQUES: For no reason, that’s true.
IRENE: I have perfect confidence in you.
JACQUES: Of course.
IRENE: I suppose you wanted to give her the letters yourself, and you’re quite right.
JACQUES: Naturally.
IRENE: [Looking at him.] What’s the matter?
JACQUES: Nothing.
IRENE: You look annoyed that I should be taking this so amiably.
JACQUES: I? On the contrary, I’m delighted.
IRENE: Would you rather have me jealous?
JACQUES: I repeat that I’m delighted.
IRENE: I have no reason for being jealous, have I?
JACQUES: No! Absolutely—none.
IRENE: Well, then?
JACQUES: Jealousy in your case would certainly be uncalled for.
IRENE: Meaning what?
JACQUES: Simply, that just as jealousy’s the most natural thing in the world when one’s in love, it becomes meaningless when one isn’t, that’s all.
IRENE: So—I don’t love you?
JACQUES: Of course you don’t love me.
IRENE: How absurd!
JACQUES: What is absurd?
IRENE: To say that.
JACQUES: Not at all, why is it?
IRENE: Come now, what are you reproaching me about?
JACQUES: I’m not reproaching you about anything.
IRENE: Have you any fault to find with me?
JACQUES: No. Go along and do your errands. Please!
IRENE: No, let’s clear this up. I’d prefer that. [Removes her coat and puts it on divan.]
JACQUES: It’s so useless.
IRENE: If I’ve disappointed you in any way, tell me.
JACQUES: In no way.
IRENE: Don’t I do all that I can to make you happy?
JACQUES: All that you can.
IRENE: Have I had any other thought than your happiness, since I’ve been your wife? Has my life had any other purpose? Don’t I always ask myself, before doing anything, if you’ll be pleased and whether you’ll approve?
JACQUES: Even in choosing your bedroom curtains,—quite right.
IRENE: Don’t make fun of me, please.
JACQUES: I’m not making fun of you. You’re an attentive, devoted and faithful wife. What more can I ask? If all that doesn’t make me happy, I must be very hard to please.
IRENE: I don’t understand you any more, Jacques.
JACQUES: I know it! That’s why all this talk can accomplish nothing.
IRENE: [Pause.] Then—then you’re not happy?
JACQUES: In any case, it’s not your fault. I repeat that I have no reproaches to make.
IRENE: [Wearily.] But what can I do, then?
JACQUES: Nothing. There’s nothing to be done.
IRENE: Yet you have my every thought.You know that, don’t you?
JACQUES: No. I don’t know that at all.
IRENE: You don’t?
JACQUES: How do you expect me to know what your thoughts are? They’re yours. They’re no business of mine.
IRENE: But I hide nothing from you. Nothing that might disturb you—I swear it.
JACQUES: As to that—[A gesture of futility.]
IRENE: You don’t believe me? Well, then, question me. I’d much rather have that.
JACQUES: No, no—no questions! Let’s leave in the dark what was meant to be in the dark.
IRENE: No! Since we’ve come to this, I want you to question me! Perhaps you’ll see how unjust you are when you know everything.
JACQUES: Then there are things to know?
IRENE: Only things that can reassure you.
JACQUES: Tell me. I’m listening. [Pause.] Have you seen her again?
IRENE: No.
JACQUES: Has she telephoned you?
IRENE: No.
JACQUES: Written?
IRENE: Yes.
JACQUES: When?
IRENE: Shortly after our return to Paris. [Pause.] Twice.
JACQUES: Where are the letters?
IRENE: [Simply.] I sent them back unopened.
JACQUES: Unopened?
IRENE: Word of honor.
JACQUES: How did you send them back?
IRENE: By the person who brought them.
JACQUES: How docs it happen that I didn’t know about it?
IRENE: You weren’t in. You had gone out.
JACQUES: Both times?
IRENE: Yes.
JACQUES: They probably waited for me to leave before bringing them!
IRENE: Perhaps. I don’t know.
JACQUES: Then you’ve no idea what she wanted of you?
IRENE: Oh,—to see me again, no doubt.
JACQUES: What makes you think that?
IRENE: I’m just supposing it.
JACQUES: Is that all?
IRENE: No.
JACQUES: What else?
IRENE: A few days after the second letter came her maid spoke to me in the street.
JACQUES: Perfect!
IRENE: It wasn’t—she, who had sent her.
JACQUES: [Ironically.] Really?
IRENE: No. She was very ill.
JACQUES: [Same tone.] Well, well.
IRENE: She’d been ill a long time. She had just had a relapse. All that night she’d been delirious. It seems... that she had asked for me several times... So the maid thought it best to come and tell me.
JACQUES: And then? What did you do?
IRENE: Nothing.
JACQUES: Nothing?
IRENE: [Shaking her head.] I merely asked the maid to bring me news of her the next day. The next day the news was better. I told her not to come back.
JACQUES: [Pause.] And then?
IRENE: That’s all.
JACQUES: Absolutely?
IRENE: Yes.
JACQUES: Why haven’t you told me this before?
IRENE: I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. You’re so sensitive, you’d have been agitated despite anything I could say. I decided to wait a few days and then tell you.
JACQUES: Why a few days?
IRENE: She’s going to Switzerland for several months to rest. I wanted to wait until she had gone.
JACQUES: Who told you she was going? The maid?
IRENE: Yes. [Pause.] Aren’t you a little reassured now?
JACQUES: I wasn’t worried.
IRENE: You know you can have confidence in me?
JACQUES: But I’ve always had confidence in you, Irene. I never doubted that when the time came, you would act as you did. You promised when you married me never to see that woman again. I was certain that you never would see her again.
IRENE: Then what’s on your mind? Why aren’t you happy?
JACQUES: And you, are you happy?
IRENE: I? [Pause.] Of course I’m happy.
JACQUES: Oh! Come now!
IRENE: [ Going toward him.] But really, Jacques! ... Haven’t I everything to make me happy? We have all we need, we get along so well—you’re kindness and generosity itself to me. What more can I wish for?
JACQUES: Why do you try to make me believe that nothing is lacking in your life?
IRENE: Because it’s true!
JACQUES: No, it’s not true!—You’re not yet thirty and I’m not thirty-five.
Happiness, at our age, doesn’t consist in leading a comfortable existence... a string of pearls—a couple of cars. It’s too soon for that. It’s love that’s lacking, Irene; you long to love, just as I long to be loved.
IRENE: What do you want me to say? You’ve convinced yourself that I don’t love you—
JACQUES: Ah, if you knew how hard it’s been to convince myself of it. The stupidly hopeful stages I went through! I’ve clung desperately to the substitutes of love—from tenderness and friendship to the most pathetic of all—compliance. On a word or a gesture that I could interpret in terms of my desire I’d regain confidence. Those illusions are gone. I know that I can really mean nothing to you. I’m as incapable of making you happy as of making you unhappy ... Oh, God! if only I could make you suffer!
IRENE: YOU can.
JACQUES: How?
IRENE: By continuing to say these silly things!
JACQUES: You know as well as I that they’re not silly. Why shut your eyes to it? Listen, do you know why I’ve made an appointment with Madame Meillant?
IRENE: Why, Jacques?
JACQUES: It was to see the effect it might have on you, whether you would object or seem annoyed. I made you laugh. That’s the only result I got.
IRENE: Did you want me to weep?
JACQUES: I wanted to see just how far your indifference went.
IRENE: Is it my fault if I believe in your love for me ... if I don’t fear your being unfaithful?
JACQUES: If you loved me, you would fear it. But the truth is, that it wouldn’t matter to you in the least.
IRENE: That’s not so!
JACQUES: Oh, yes, it is.
IRENE: It would hurt me a great deal.
JACQUES: Hurt you?
IRENE: Of course.
JACQUES: Tell me just how it would hurt you?
IRENE: How can I tell you that? I don’t know.
JACQUES: Well, try to imagine.
IRENE: I’d be very disappointed, very saddened. I’d feel that—that afterwards I would not like to be taken in your arms again as I did before . . . there.
JACQUES: [Looking at her mournfully.] As you did before?
IRENE: Yes.
JACQUES: You really like so much to be in my arms? Tell me!
IRENE: [Lowering her head.] Why—yes.
JACQUES: My poor Irene—so you think me blind?
IRENE: [Pause, then with an effort.] Have I—have I ever refused you? JACQUES: You’ve had a great deal of courage.
IRENE: I thought I made you happy—that was all I wanted.
JACQUES: One can’t give happiness so easily as that.
IRENE: I’m sorry.
JACQUES: Love, you see—is something very different.
IRENE: Everything I could give you—I’ve given. If that doesn’t suffice you—
JACQUES: No!
IRENE: Then, look somewhere else, that’s all.
JACQUES: You’d like that, wouldn’t you? What a deliverance for you that day would be!
IRENE: Oh! Jacques, that will do! [Pause.] And anyway, it’s getting late and I must be going. [Gets coat from divan, puts it on and goes toward door.]
JACQUES: Irene?
IRENE: What?
JACQUES: Come here.
IRENE: What do you want?
JACQUES: Forgive me. I didn’t mean—to hurt you. If I have, forgive me.
IRENE: [Going towards him.] Why are you so unjust?
JACQUES: Well, you see, I can’t get used to it.
IRENE: Used to what? My not loving you? But I do. You are everything that I admire, everything that pleases me, everything that I respect in this world.
JACQUES: [Dejected.] Yes, I suppose so.
IRENE: Well, do you think that many wives can say as such of their husbands?
JACQUES: I wasn’t asking for as much, either.
IRENE: Do I love anyone else but you? I don’t, do I? Well then? ... If you had been told a year ago that you held the first and only place in my life, wouldn’t you have been happy?
JACQUES: Of course.
IRENE: Do you think my feeling for you hasn’t grown since I asked you to keep me here? You remember, that day, don’t you?
JACQUES: Yes.
IRENE: [Smiling—comes close to him.] And at Montcel, three weeks later, the mayor’s speech and the little chapel, where it was so cold; you remember that too?
JACQUES: Yes.
IRENE: Do you regret what happened that day?
JACQUES: Do you?
IRENE: No.
JACQUES: That’s something anyway.
IRENE: Then—will you kiss me?
JACQUES: You want me to?
IRENE: Yes,—I do. [He takes her in his arms and holds her there a moment, quietly, looking at her. She leans forward to kiss him, her left arm is raised to clasp him, when her eyes rest on her wrist watch.] Oh, look! Quarter to four! Can that be the time?
JACQUES: Yes.
IRENE: I had no idea! Oh! what a nuisance. Now I won’t have time to go to the decorator’s. Hurry, dearest!
JACQUES: What?
IRENE: Aren’t you going to kiss me?
JACQUES: [Drawing away.] No, you’re late already.
IRENE: It doesn’t matter.
JACQUES: No, no—run along.
IRENE: Don’t be silly! Just because I said...
JACQUES: Go on... Go—[He turns his back to her and walk away.]
IRENE: Great heavens, but you’re touchy!
JACQUES: Please go!
IRENE: [She sighs.] See you later, then?
JACQUES: Yes. [IRENE goes toward door. At the door she turns around.]
IRENE: I hope you won’t make love to that woman?
JACQUES: Thank you for thinking of it!
IRENE: You promise me you won’t?
JACQUES: Yes, yes, of course. [IRENE goes out at back. JACQUES sits down, thoughtful, a bitter expression on his face. After quite a pause, he sees on the desk the letter FRANÇOISE has written, takes it, puts it in his pocket, goes and opens a cabinet and takes out a rather bulky envelope, which he brings to the desk. He empties its contents: letters. He picks one at random and reads it. At that moment a bell is heard. He puts the letters back in the envelope. GEORGES enters.]
GEORGES: Madame Meillant monsieur.
JACQUES: Ask her to come in. [Puts letters in desk drawer. A moment later GEORGES ushers FRANÇOISE into the room and retires.] How are you, Françoise? It was sweet of you to come. [He kisses her hand.]
FRANÇOISE: Oh, I only came to get my letters. Don’t imagine it was for any other reason.
JACQUES: I’m imagining nothing at all. But I may thank you for having come, mayn’t I?
FRANÇOISE: Why didn’t you give the maid the letters as I asked in my note? It would have been much simpler.
JACQUES: I preferred their passing directly from my hands into yours. It seemed to me the safest way. And after all, why not say it: I wanted to see you again.
FRANÇOISE: Really? And you didn’t ask yourself if I wanted to see you?
JACQUES: I ventured to think that if that were too disagreeable you wouldn’t come.
FRANÇOISE: I wanted my letters, I’ve just told you that. You don’t seem to realize that I’ve been waiting for them a year.
JACQUES: They were here and I was circling the world. Unless I were to return especially from Japan to get them—
FRANÇOISE: You could have sent them to me before you left.
JACQUES: I didn’t have the time.
FRANÇOISE: You left very hurriedly.
JACQUES: Very. But you weren’t anxious about your letters, were you? You knew they were in safekeeping.
FRANÇOISE: Oh, you think so? And suppose your wife had taken a fancy to search your desk?
JACQUES: That’s quite unlikely.
FRANÇOISE: Just the same, such things do happen.
JACQUES: Not here.
FRANÇOISE: Then your wife isn’t jealous?
JACQUES: Not at all.
FRANÇOISE: You’re lucky! She’s not in, I hope.
JACQUES: No, she’s just gone out.
FRANÇOISE: [Going to table and regarding picture of IRENE.] Is this she?
JACQUES: Yes.
FRANÇOISE: My compliments.
JACQUES: Thanks.
FRANÇOISE: Why didn’t you tell me the truth the last time I came here?
JACQUES: The truth?
FRANÇOISE: Yes; that you were going to be married. I should have preferred that, you know. It would have been nicer. Besides, at least it was a reason.
JACQUES: I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know it myself.
FRANÇOISE: You didn’t know it?
JACQUES: No.
FRANÇOISE: And three weeks later the papers announced that you were married!
JACQUES: Yes.
FRANÇOISE: You didn’t lose much time, then?
JACQUES: Once a thing like that is decided upon...
FRANÇOISE: She’s a childhood friend, isn’t she?
JACQUES: She’s a cousin.
FRANÇOISE: First cousin?
JACQUES: No.
FRANÇOISE: Just as well!—And you’ve loved each other always, of course?
JACQUES: Well—
FRANÇOISE: Oh, you can tell me now. I really don’t know why I’m asking you; it matters to me so little.
JACQUES: Then—
FRANÇOISE: Give me my letters, won’t you?
JACQUES: Are you in such a hurry to get them?
FRANÇOISE: Yes.
JACQUES: Why?
FRANÇOISE: Because.
JACQUES: I’m not asking you for mine!
FRANÇOISE: I burned them long ago.
JACQUES: Really?
FRANÇOISE: Besides, for all the letters you ever sent—and for all they ever said—
JACQUES: Just the same, it wasn’t very nice to burn them.
FRANÇOISE: Why should I have kept them?
JACQUES: To re-read them now and then.
FRANÇOISE: I had other things to do.
JACQUES: Ah?
FRANÇOISE: Jacques—my letters!
JACQUES: Not right away! Wait a bit. We’ve so many things to say to each other first.
FRANÇOISE: We have absolutely nothing to say. Besides, your wife may come in at any minute, and I’m no more anxious to meet her than she is to meet me.
JACQUES: Sit down. She won’t be here for at least an hour. And even then she won’t come into this room.
FRANÇOISE: How do you know?
JACQUES: I told her I was expecting you.
FRANÇOISE: You told her that?
JACQUES: Yes.
FRANÇOISE: And she was willing?
JACQUES: Of course.
FRANÇOISE: Well! You have trained her properly!
JACQUES: Now, do sit down and tell me everything.
FRANÇOISE: But I’ve nothing to tell you. [Sits on divan.]
JACQUES: Oh! Come now! [Draws up chair and sits near her.]
FRANÇOISE: What do you want to know?
JACQUES: With whom are you in love?
FRANÇOISE: That, my dear Jacques, is my—
JACQUES: What do you care? I promise not to tell a soul... Is it Moreuil?
FRANÇOISE: Perhaps.
JACQUES: Seriously? Moreuil? Oh! but he’s an awful looking fellow! [He looks at her. She does not falter.] No. You didn’t protest. It isn’t Moreuil. Then who is it?
FRANÇOISE: Heavens, you’re impossible! [She laughs.]
JACQUES: Ah! you’re laughing—that’s nice.
FRANÇOISE: I’m laughing because you disarm me. But believe me, I’ve no desire to.
JACQUES: You should laugh. It’s very becoming to you. You’re lovely when you laugh.
FRANÇOISE: I don’t care to be lovely.
JACQUES: What a fib!
FRANÇOISE: Do you think I care a thing about attracting you now?
JACQUES: Oh, I don’t say that you care especially about it ,—but you’d just as soon I thought you pretty. Well, I find you pretty, very pretty, even prettier than I remembered. Were you as pretty as this before?
FRANÇOISE: Jacques, please give me my letters and let me go.
JACQUES: I’ll give them if you tell me with whom you’re in love.
FRANÇOISE: I’m in love with no one.
JACQUES: No one?
FRANÇOISE: No!
JACQUES: Is it true?
FRANÇOISE: Oh! ... I’d tell you... why not?
JACQUES: [Thoughtfully, looking at her.] Françoise?...
FRANÇOISE: What?
JACQUES: If you love no one, won’t you—try to love me a little?
FRANÇOISE: You? Ah, no, I should say not!
JACQUES: Why?
FRANÇOISE: No, thank you! That’s all over, fortunately.
JACQUES: [Pause.] Too bad—
FRANÇOISE: You think so?
JACQUES: Yes, it’s too bad... If you had wanted to love me... just a tiny little bit... I could have loved you so much.
FRANÇOISE : You?
JACQUES: Yes.
FRANÇOISE: You, love? Why, you don’t even know what the word means!
JACQUES: Do you believe that?
FRANÇOISE: I know it. For you, love is an amusing pastime. It isn’t your fault; you were born fickle.
JACQUES: I was born faithful, Françoise.
FRANÇOISE: Faithful to whom?
JACQUES: To you, if you wish it.
FRANÇOISE: And your wife, what about her? Are you already dissatisfied with her? Poor girl! How I pity her!
JACQUES: She isn’t to be pitied.
FRANÇOISE: One year! Not even that—eleven months! Eleven months ago you married her, and already you’re looking for an adventure. But then I was certain how it would turn out.
JACQUES: Really?
FRANÇOISE: When I read your note a while ago, I didn’t have a moment’s doubt. From the way in which you asked me to come, I understood immediately what you wanted.
JACQUES: And you came, just the same?
FRANÇOISE: Because of my letters.
JACQUES: True enough,—pardon me!
FRANÇOISE: But I knew perfectly well that you were thinking much less about returning them to me, than in seeing if I still loved you. I know you, Jacques!
JACQUES: Not so well.
FRANÇOISE: Oh, come now, it’s so natural. After that long trip, you came back to Paris, and began getting bored. For a man like you, married life is terribly monotonous, isn’t it? A distraction’s almost imperative! Only, my dear Jacques, you were wrong in thinking me still available. Your Françoise no longer loves you! And that’s that!
JACQUES: [Pause.] Well—never mind... [He rises.]
FRANÇOISE: That surprises you, doesn’t it?
JACQUES: What?
FRANÇOISE: That one should be able not to love you.
JACQUES: [Sadly.] No, it doesn’t—it doesn’t surprise me in the least, I assure you. It’s the way things have been going.
FRANÇOISE: [After a moment.] Well, then?
JACQUES: Then nothing. I’m going to give you your letters. That’s all. [He goes to desk, takes out the envelope containing the letters and brings it to FRANÇOISE.] They are all there.
FRANÇOISE: [Looking at him.] What’s the matter? [She takes letters and puts them in her lap.]
JACQUES: Nothing.
FRANÇOISE: [She rises and letters fall to floor.] Why do you look so unhappy, all of a sudden?
JACQUES: Do I?
FRANÇOISE: You’re not going to tell me that I’ve hurt you?
JACQUES: No.
FRANÇOISE: Then what’s troubling you?
JACQUES: Nothing, my dear, nothing at all. I’m unhappy because—because we’re going to part and will never each other again, that’s all.
FRANÇOISE: What do you care?
JACQUES: I shall miss you.
FRANÇOISE: Have you missed me much during the past year?
JACQUES: Perhaps—
FRANÇOISE: What a story! You would have told me!
JACQUES: How?
FRANÇOISE: You could have written me,—I hadn’t forbidden you to.
JACQUES: That’s true.
FRANÇOISE: Not a line—not even a post card—nothing! And still you expect me to love you. You must admit it would be too stupid of me!
JACQUES: It’s never stupid to love...
FRANÇOISE: It is to love you.
JACQUES: That’s funny!
FRANÇOISE: What’s funny?
JACQUES: How little you know me, my dear Françoise!
FRANÇOISE: Ah?
JACQUES: Really.
FRANÇOISE: Whose fault is that, then?
JACQUES: Oh! It’s mine, I realize that.
FRANÇOISE: If you were capable of love, why did you never show it to me? Why did you always belittle the love I had for you? The day may come, Jacques, when you’ll be sorry for that.
JACQUES: Be content, my dear, I’m sorry for it already.
FRANÇOISE: No, not yet. You’re still too young. But—
JACQUES: You can’t imagine how sorry I am, Françoise.
FRANÇOISE: Truly?
JACQUES: Yes.
FRANÇOISE: [After a pause, looking at him.] You’re without doubt the most bewildering man I’ve ever known! Things happen when one least expects them, with you—and when it’s too late!
JACQUES: Are you sure?
FRANÇOISE: Of what?
JACQUES: That it’s too late?
FRANÇOISE: Of course.
JACQUES: Françoise... [He takes her hand.]
FRANÇOISE: Don’t——
JACQUES: Are you sure that way down, way down in you—there isn’t a little flicker—that might be revived by my being very careful?.. Tell me?
FRANÇOISE: No! I don’t want to!
JACQUES: Too bad.
FRANÇOISE: Where are my letters?
JACQUES: On the floor. [He picks them up.]
FRANÇOISE: Give them to me.
JACQUES: Will you do one last thing for me?
FRANÇOISE: What?
JACQUES: Since it’s over, since we’re going to say good-by and never see each other again,—let me kiss you.
FRANÇOISE: You’re silly!
JACQUES: Please. I’d like, just once, to see your eyes again—
FRANÇOISE: My eyes?
JACQUES: Yes. Oh, not as they are now, not your everyday eyes. But the old-time eyes—the eyes I used to know—[Going toward her.] I want to see those eyes again—just to see them.
FRANÇOISE: No.
JACQUES: After that, you can go away. I shan’t try to hold you, I promise. Grant me that one little happiness. [He moves to take her in his arms.]
FRANÇOISE: [Resisting.] No, I don’t want to!
JACQUES: Please, please let me.
FRANÇOISE: [Imploring.] Let me go!
JACQUES: Françoise!—[He embraces her.]
FRANÇOISE: Let me go! I implore you! I don’t want to—[More feebly.] I don’t want to—I don’t wa—[Their lips meet. She abandons herself to him. The kiss, a long one, leaves her prostrated, her head thrown back on his shoulder, her eyes closed.]
JACQUES: [Looking down at her, in a low voice.] How beautiful!
FRANÇOISE: [Quietly, without moving.] What’s beautiful?
JACQUES: A woman!
FRANÇOISE: [Releasing herself gently.] I suppose you’re happy now? You’ve had what you wanted? I was almost consoled, I had almost forgotten you... And I had to come here to give you the satisfaction of torturing me all over again!... I don’t know what I’m going to do... And I knew what would happen, I knew!
JACQUES: [Smilingly approaching her.] My sweet Françoise...
FRANÇOISE: Oh! no, no, don’t come near me, Jacques, please! You wanted to know if you still had your power over me. Now that you’ve seen that you have, it ought to satisfy you.
JACQUES: Do you really believe that that satisfies me?
FRANÇOISE: You don’t want to hurt me all over again, do you?
JACQUES: No, Françoise.
FRANÇOISE: Then give me my letters and let me go!
JACQUES: No.
FRANÇOISE: You won’t give them to me?
JACQUES: I’ll bring them myself to your house.
FRANÇOISE: No!
JACQUES: In a little while.
FRANÇOISE: You will not!
JACQUES: Will you be there at about five?
FRANÇOISE: No, I will not be there!
JACQUES: [Tenderly.] Yes, you will.
FRANÇOISE: But I don’t want you to come!
JACQUES: [Taking her by the arm and forcing her to look at him.] You don’t want me to?
FRANÇOISE: [With less conviction.] No—
JACQUES: Truly? You don’t want me to?
FRANÇOISE: [In a supplicating tone.] No.
JACQUES: Françoise—! [Again he embraces and kisses her.]
FRANÇOISE: Oh! It’s going to begin all over again.
JACQUES: What is?
FRANÇOISE: Everything, as it was before.
JACQUES: Not as it was before.
FRANÇOISE: Oh!
JACQUES: You’ll see!
FRANÇOISE: It will be just the same, I know.
JACQUES: No.
FRANÇOISE: Why? What’s been changed?
JACQUES: Me.
FRANÇOISE: Do you believe people change?
JACQUES: They learn a little.
FRANÇOISE: [Smiling.] While traveling?
JACQUES: Yes, while traveling.
FRANÇOISE: What do they learn?
JACQUES: To love the people of their homeland, the people who speak their language. It’s tiresome to talk when one isn’t understood. One wearies of it.
FRANÇOISE: [Surprised, looking at him.] Poor Jacques!
JACQUES: Don’t pity me; I’ve come back to my own people.
FRANÇOISE: [Leaning against him; tenderly.] Oh! Jacques—it’s terrifying! I already loved you when you were quite detestable; what will it be like if you start being a darling?
JACQUES: You’ll love me a little more, that’s all.
FRANÇOISE: [Nestling against his.] My dear one... I’m happy... [Pause.]
[The slam of a door is heard. JACQUES listens in surprise. FRANÇOISE starts. They separate.]
FRANÇOISE: What is it?
JACQUES: Probably my wife returning.
FRANÇOISE: [Nervously.] Ah! I knew it!
JACQUES: Don’t worry, she won’t come in. [They listen a few seconds in silence.] You see? Does that reassure you? You can go without meeting a soul.
FRANÇOISE: [Very moved.] But—you’re coming?
JACQUES: Of course I’m coming!
FRANÇOISE: Till you do, my love!
JACQUES: Till I do, my love! [He opens the door. She goes out, he following her. A few seconds later he reenters followed by GEORGES.]
GEORGES: Madame asked me to let her know as soon as you were alone, monsieur.
JACQUES: [Puts letters away. Annoyed.] Well... go and tell madame. Then bring my hat and my overcoat.
GEORGES: Yes, monsieur. [He goes out at right to IRENE’s room. A moment later IRENE enters.]
JACQUES: Back already?
IRENE: Yes. [She seems curiously disturbed and unnatural.]
JACQUES: You weren’t gone very long. Well,—what about the painting? IRENE: What painting?
JACQUES: Praxine’s painting—the one you wanted to buy.
IRENE: Oh, yes.
JACQUES: Didn’t you bring it back with you?
IRENE: No ...Jacques, I’d like to talk with you ... May I? [GEORGES enters from rear door with JACQUES’ hat and coat.] Oh, are you going out?
JACQUES: Yes, but I have a few minutes to spare. [To GEORGES.] Put them there. [GEORGES puts hat and coat on arm of divan and goes out.] What did you want to tell me?
IRENE: I’ll wait until you come back.
JACQUES: Please don’t.
IRENE: I’d delay you. [He looks at her and is struck by her appearance.]
JACQUES: What’s the matter with you?
IRENE: Nothing. I’ll tell you when you get back.
JACQUES: No. Tell me now.
IRENE: It’s not so urgent.
JACQUES: Oh, come, tell me—what is it?
IRENE: ... Jacques, I’d like to go away—to leave Paris.
JACQUES: Leave Paris?
IRENE: Yes.
JACQUES: But what for?
IRENE: I’m just asking you to.
JACQUES: What does it mean? Where do you want to go?
IRENE: We might go for a while to Montcel. Father would be only too happy. He suggested it several times. All we need do is wire the caretaker. He’d meet us at Limoges with a car.
JACQUES: But why do you want to leave Paris? We’ve hardly been back a month!
IRENE: I know.
JACQUES: Why this whim?
IRENE: It’s not a whim.
JACQUES: Explain yourself, then.
IRENE: I hoped—that you’d understand.
JACQUES: That I’d understand?
IRENE: Yes.
JACQUES: No, I don’t understand.
IRENE: I mustn’t—remain here.
JACQUES: [Forcibly.] But why not?
IRENE: [Trembling all over, her head lowered.] I’ve seen her again.
JACQUES: Ah?—[Pause.] Where?
IRENE: Praxine’s... She knew I was to be there. She was waiting for me.
JACQUES: How did she know?
IRENE: She knows everything.
JACQUES: Then she knows Praxine?
IRENE: She had met him once, in Vienna.
JACQUES: Did you know that?
IRENE: No, of course not.
JACQUES: So—you spoke to her?
IRENE: She spoke to me.
JACQUES: In front of Praxine?
IRENE: No.
JACQUES: What did she say to you?
IRENE: Oh!—I don’t remember now.
JACQUES: You don’t want to tell me—
IRENE: Really, I don’t remember,—I was hardly listening.
JACQUES: She asked to see you again, I suppose?
IRENE: . . . Yes.
JACQUES: What did you answer?
IRENE: . . . That I didn’t want to.
JACQUES: And then?
IRENE: She said—that she would wait.
JACQUES: Until when?
IRENE: . . . Until I came.
JACQUES: Isn’t she going to Switzerland? [IRENE shakes her head.] Or is she cured?
IRENE: She says she doesn’t care if she dies.
JACQUES: Don’t worry, she won’t die. That’s the old story.
IRENE: She never lies.
JACQUES: Can’t her husband take her away?
IRENE: They’re not together any more. She has left him.
JACQUES: Really?
IRENE: [After a pause.] Jacques,—is it true that he came to see you a year ago?
JACQUES: Yes. How did she know that?
IRENE: She didn’t tell me. [Pause.] It was after that, that she left him.
JACQUES: So much the better for him. Is there no one with her who could take her away?
IRENE: [Shaking her head.] No one. [Controlling her feeling.] She is alone-all alone—
JACQUES: [After looking at her a while in silence.] Ah! She’s very clever—one must admit that! [IRENE shrugs her shoulders.] Mustn’t she be clever to be able to upset you like this at your first encounter?
IRENE: How do you know that she wasn’t more upset than I!
JACQUES: Of course, that was part of the plan! What surprises me, though, is that seeing you in this condition she should have let you escape, that she didn’t attempt to hold you—
IRENE: Do you think—that she didn’t try?
JACQUES: Well, then?
IRENE: To get away, I had to promise that I’d go to see her later.
JACQUES: [Ironically.] Splendid! [A slight pause.] And—do you intend seeing her?
IRENE: You know very well I don’t.
JACQUES: Have you the courage not to?
IRENE: YeS.
JACQUES: It will be hard, won’t it?
IRENE: [Barely speaking the word.] Yes.
JACQUES: How long—will you be able to resist?
IRENE: I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking to go away.
JACQUES: Well, then, go. Who’s preventing you? You don’t need me for that, do you?
IRENE: You won’t come?
JACQUES: No.
IRENE: Why?
JACQUES: You want to know why? Look at yourself! You’re breathless—your eyes are dazed—your hands are trembling—because you’ve seen her again, that’s why! For a year I’ve been living with a statue and that woman had only to reappear for the statue to come to life, to become a human being capable of suffering and trembling! Well, I give up, Irene, do you understand? I give up! I’ve loved you more than anything in the world, you know that. I’ve proved it to you. As long as I hoped that some day you might love me as I loved you, as a man and woman can love each other, with body and soul, I accepted the role of your guardian. But now I’ve had enough. I resign from a useless and ungrateful task. Protect yourself, if you can. It doesn’t interest me any longer. It’s over! I’m tired of pursuing a phantom. D’Aiguines knew what he was talking about when he said, “Leave her alone, get out of her way, she isn’t for you.” He was right—Fortunately, there are women who are for us.
IRENE: Madame Meillant, for instance?
JACQUES: Yes.
IRENE: And I’ve tried so hard.
JACQUES: I didn’t ask you to. It was you who came to me.
IRENE: Then you should have turned me away.
JACQUES: You shouldn’t have said that you could love me.
IRENE: How did I know? I tried my best to love you! You always speak of what you have done! What about me? What about me? What about my feelings,—did you ever know anything about them? Did you ever give them so much as a thought? You loved me, it’s true, but in your way.
JACQUES: Were you expecting platonic love from me?
IRENE: I expected a little more tenderness. Is there no spirit in love? Must it be only—the body!
JACQUES: Yes, you loathed that, didn’t you? Go on, say it, be frank at least! [IRENE lowers her head, and does not answer.] But don’t bother, don’t say it! What for? I’ve known it for a long time.
IRENE: without looking at him.] Have you?
JACQUES: You wouldn’t have thought so, is that what you mean? Well, you are rid of it now. You can breathe freely at last! I’ll never impose my desire again. No more of that drudgery. It’s over! Aren’t you going to thank me?
IRENE: [After a moment.] Have you nothing else to say to me, Jacques?
JACQUES: No, really, I haven’t. I think we’ve said all there is to say! Everything is quite clear, now. You can do what you like—I don’t care any more. [He takes his hat and coat from divan.] Good night. [He goes out. She follows him towards the door. As it closes she utters a, half stifled cry. Then she sits down, deep in thought, in a chair, her forehead resting in her hand. JOSEPHINE, the maid, enters from IRENE’s room, carrying some flowers in a box.]
IRENE: What is it?
JOSEPHINE: Some flowers for you, madame, that have just come. [she puts the box on the desk and opens it. It contains a large bunch of violets, like those in the first act.]
IRENE: Who brought them?
JOSEPHINE: The florist, madame.
IRENE: Ah? [Pause.] Was there no letter with them?
JOSEPHINE: No, madame, nothing at all.
IRENE: That’s all, Josephine, thank you. [JOSEPHINE goes out. IRENE slowly turns and looks at the violets. She walks toward them, lifts them from the box, caresses them. Her eyes become fixed and hard. She turns toward the door through which JACQUES went out. She looks at the flowers again, seems to hesitate, then abruptly gets her hat, and rushes out to her room.]
[After a few moments the rear door opens and JACQUES appears. He closes the door as he enters. He slowly takes off his hat and coat and sits down at his desk, meditating. At that moment the outer door of the apartment is heard to slam. JACQUES raises his head.]
JACQUES: [He rises, goes to door leading into IRENE’s room, opens it, steps in and calls gently.] Irene? . . . [Again, louder and anxiously.] Irene? [He then reenters, looking surprised, and crosses hurriedly to desk, where he rings bell. GEORGES enters.] Has madame gone out?
GEORGES: Yes, monsieur, just a moment ago.
JACQUES: Oh! [Pause.] Did she leave any message?
GEORGES: No, monsieur.
JACQUES: [After a pause.] All right, Georges. [He sits down at desk.] You can go. [GEORGES goes toward rear door then seeing hat and overcoat on chair, turns.]
GEORGES: Shall I take these away, monsieur? [JACQUES, absorbed in his thoughts, does not hear him. After a few moments, he raises his head and notices GEORGES standing there.]
JACQUES: What?
GEORGES: I was asking monsieur if I should put his hat and coat away?
JACQUES: [After a pause.] No. Leave them. I’m going out, too.
The CURTAIN falls