MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_holding up another letter_] "Little Questions of Sentiment." This is for you, Therese. [_She reads_] "I feel so sad because I am getting old," etc. Answer, "Why this sadness--"

THeReSE. "White hairs are a crown of--" [_She writes a few words in pencil upon the letter which Mademoiselle de Meuriot has pa.s.sed to her_]

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. "Astral Influences." [_Looking round_] Who is "Astral Influences"?

MADAME CHANTEUIL. I am.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_pa.s.sing her letters_] Here are two, three--one without a post office order. Put that one straight into the waste paper basket. Remember that you must always promise them luck, with little difficulties to give success more flavor. And be sure to tell them they're full of good qualities, with some little amiable weaknesses and the sort of defects one enjoys boasting about. [_Going on reading_]

"About using whites of eggs to take the sharpness out of sorrel," "To take out ink-stains." These are for you, dear.

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE. Yes. [_She takes the letters_] I didn't think of that when I took my degree.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_continuing_] "Stoutness"; that's for you too.

[_Glancing again at the letter_] What does this one want? [_Fluttering the leaves_] Four pages; ah, here we are--"A slender figure--smaller hips--am not too stout anywhere else." That's for the doctor. [_She gives the letter to Mademoiselle Gregoire with several others_]

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE. Iodiform soap.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. My dear, not at all, "Soap of the Sylphs."

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE. But that's exactly the same thing.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. I know that. But it sounds so different.

[_Taking another letter_] "A red nose"--

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE. Lemon juice.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_continuing_] "Superfluous hairs." Be sure to recommend the cream that gives us advertis.e.m.e.nts; don't make any mistake about that. "Black specks on the chin," "Wrinkles round the eyes."

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE. There's no cure for that.

MADAME CHANTEUIL. Tell her to go to bed early and alone.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. That's too easy, she wouldn't believe in it.

Find something else. [_Continuing to read_] "To make them firm without enlarging them"; that's for you too. And all the rest I think. "To whiten the teeth," "To make the hair lighter," "To give firmness to the bust."

MADAME CHANTEUIL. They're always asking that.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_reading_] "To enlarge the eyes," "get rid of wrinkles"--"and double chins"--"a clear complexion"--"to keep young"--ouf! That's all. No, here's one that wants white arms. They're all alike, poor women!

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE. And all that to please men.

MADAME CHANTEUIL. To please a man more than some other woman, and so to be fed, lodged, and kept by him.

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE [_between her teeth_] _Kept_ is the right word.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Ah, here's Mademoiselle Baron. [_To Mademoiselle Baron_] Well? What luck?

MADEMOISELLE BARON [_miserably_] There's no one in the office. I've got the signed contract for the advertis.e.m.e.nts of the Inst.i.tut de Jouvence.

Now I must go on to the printers. Here it is. Good-bye. [_A silence_]

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_in a suffocated voice_] Good-bye, my dear.

_They watch her go sadly. A long silence._

THeReSE [_speaking with great emotion_] Poor, _poor_ little thing!

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_also quite overcome, slowly_] Perhaps she has someone at home who's hungry.

_They each respond by a sigh or an ouf! Mademoiselle Gregoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot rise, picking up their papers._

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE. I must go and see to the "Doctor's Page."

MADAME CHANTEUIL. And I to the "Gleaner's Column."

_They go out to the right. Therese rests her chin on her two hands and reflects profoundly. Monsieur Nerisse comes in at the back._

NeRISSE [_speaking back to the people he has left in his office in an irritated voice_] Do as you like. I've told you my opinion. I wash my hands of it. When your draft is ready show it to me. [_He shuts the door. Therese, when she hears his voice, has gathered up her papers and is making for the door on the right. He calls her back_] Mademoiselle!

THeReSE. Monsieur!

NeRISSE. Listen. I have something to say to you. [_Therese returns_] Did Madame Nerisse give you the letter of introduction I wrote for you?

THeReSE. Yes, Monsieur. Please forgive me for not having thanked you before.

NeRISSE. It's nothing.

THeReSE. Indeed it's a great deal.

NeRISSE. Nothing.

THeReSE. Yes, I'm sure to be received quite differently with that letter from what I should be without it.

NeRISSE. I can give you any number of letters like that. May I?

THeReSE [_coldly_] No, thank you.

NeRISSE. You won't let me?

THeReSE. No.

NeRISSE. Why?

THeReSE. You know very well why.

NeRISSE. You're still angry with me. You do yourself harm by the way you treat me, you do indeed. Listen, this is the sort of thing. Moranville, the editor of the review I was talking about, is going to meet me at my restaurant after dinner. I know he wants just such stories as you write.

But Moranville reads only the ma.n.u.scripts of people he knows--he has a craze about it. Well, I hardly dare propose to you a thing which nevertheless is perfectly natural among colleagues, to come and dine with me first and meet him after. I hardly like--[_Therese draws herself up_] You see, I'm right. You don't trust me.

THeReSE. On the contrary, I'll go gladly. Madame Nerisse will be with you of course?