Chapter 113

_To these_, _by the door L. C._, _the_ CURATE _and the_ NOTARY, _arm in arm_; _the latter owl-like and titubant_

CURATE. Peace be on this house!

NOTARY (_singing_). ‘Prove an excuse for the glass.’

DUMONT. Welcome, excellent neighbours! The Church and the Law.

CURATE. And you, Charles, let me hope your feelings are in solemn congruence with this momentous step.

NOTARY (_digging_ CHARLES _in the ribs_). Married? Lovely bride? Prove an excuse!

DUMONT (_to_ CURATE). I fear our friend? perhaps? as usual? eh?

CURATE. Possibly: I had not yet observed it.

DUMONT. Well, well, his heart is good.

CURATE. He doubtless meant it kindly.

NOTARY. Where’s Aline?

ALINE. Coming, sir! (NOTARY _makes for her_.)

CURATE (_capturing him_). You will infallibly expose yourself to misconstruction. (_To_ CHARLES.) Where is your commanding officer?

CHARLES. Why, sir, we have quite an alert. Information has been received from Lyons that the notorious malefactor, Robert Macaire, has broken prison, and the Brigadier is now scouring the country in his pursuit. I myself am instructed to watch the visitors to our house.

DUMONT. That will do, Charles: you may go. (_Exit_ CHARLES.) You have considered the case I laid before you?

NOTARY. Considered a case?

DUMONT. Yes, yes. Charles, you know, Charles. Can he marry? under these untoward and peculiar circumstances, can he marry?

NOTARY. Now, lemme tell you: marriage is a contract to which there are two constracting parties. That being clear, I am prepared to argue categorically that your son Charles—who, it appears, is not your son Charles—I am prepared to argue that one party to a contract being null and void, the other party to a contract cannot by law oblige or constrain the first party to constract or bind himself to any contract, except the other party be able to see his way clearly to constract himself with him. I donno if I make myself clear?

DUMONT. No.

NOTARY. Now, lemme tell you: by applying justice of peace might possibly afford relief.

DUMONT. But how?

NOTARY. Ay, there’s the rub.

DUMONT. But what am I to do? He’s not my son, I tell you: Charles is not my son.

NOTARY. I know.

DUMONT. Perhaps a glass of wine would clear him?

NOTARY. That’s what I want. (_They go out_, _L. U. E._)

ALINE. And now, if you’ve done deranging my table, to the cellar for the wine, the whole pack of you. (_Manet sola_, _considering table_.) There: it’s like a garden. If I had as sweet a table for my wedding, I would marry the Notary.