"To Marion de Lorme."

SAVERNY.

They talk of nothing But this in Paris. That book and "The Cid"

Are the successful efforts of the day.

MARION (_taking the book_).

It"s very civil of you; now, good-night!

SAVERNY.

What is the use of fame? Alack-a-day!

To come to Blois and love a rustic! Bah!

MARION (_calling to Dame Rose_).

Take care of the Marquis, and show him out!

SAVERNY (_saluting her_).

Ah, Marion, you"ve degenerated! [_He goes out._

SCENE II

_Marion, afterward Didier_

MARION (_alone, shuts the door by which Saverny went out_).

Go-- Go quickly! Oh, I feared lest Didier-- [_Midnight strikes._ Hark!

It"s striking midnight! Didier should be here!

[_She goes to the balcony and looks into the street._

No one!

[_She comes back and sits down impatiently._

Late! To be late--so soon!

[_A young man appears behind the bal.u.s.trade of the balcony, jumps over it lightly, enters, places his cloak and sword on the armchair. Costume of the day: all black: boots. He takes one step forward, pauses_ _and contemplates Marion, sitting with her eyes cast down._

At last!

[_Reproachfully._ To let me count the hour alone!

DIDIER (_seriously_).

I feared To enter!

MARION (_hurt_).

Ah!

DIDIER (_without noticing it_).

Down there, outside the wall, I was o"ercome with pity. Pity? yes, For you! I, poor, accursed, unfortunate, Stood there a long time thinking, ere I came!

"Up there an angel waits," I thought, "in virgin grace, Untouched by sin--a being chaste and fair, To whose sweet face shining on life"s pathway Each pa.s.ser-by should bend his knees and pray.

I, who am but a vagrant "mongst the crowd, Why should I seek to stir that placid stream?

Why should I pluck that lily? With the breath Of human pa.s.sion, why should I consent To cloud the azure of that radiant soul?

Since in her loyalty she trusts to me, Since virtue shields her with its sanct.i.ty, Have I a right to take her gift of love, To bring my storms into her perfect day?"

MARION (_aside_).

This is theology, it seems to me!

I wonder if he is a Huguenot?

DIDIER.

But when your tender voice fell on my ear, I wrestled with my doubts no more--I came.

MARION.

Oh, then you heard me speaking--that is strange!

DIDIER.

Yes; with another person.

MARION (_quickly_).

With Dame Rose!

She talks just like a man, don"t you think so?

Such a strong voice! Ah, well, since you are here I am no longer angry! Come, sit down.

[_Indicating a place at her side._ Sit here!

DIDIER.

No! at your feet.

[_He sits on a stool at Marion"s feet and looks at her for some moments in complete silence._

Hear me, Marie!

I have no name but Didier--never knew My father nor my mother. I was left, A baby, on the threshold of a church.

A woman, old, belonging to the people, Preserved me, was my mother and my nurse.

She brought me up a Christian, then she died And left me all she had--nine hundred francs A year, on which I live. To be alone At twenty is a sad and bitter thing!

I traveled--saw mankind: I learned to hate A few and to despise the rest. For on This tarnished mirror we call human life, I saw nothing but pride and misery And pain; so that, although I"m young, I"m old, And am as weary of the world as are The men who leave it. Never touched a thing That did not tear and lacerate my soul!

Although the world was bad, I found men worse.

Thus I have lived; alone and poor and sad, Until you came, and you have set things right.