Chapter 117

_MACAIRE, BERTRAND; afterwards CHARLES, who appears on the gallery and comes down_

BERTRAND. I told you so. Why will you fly so high?

MACAIRE. Bertrand, don't crush me. A pound: a fortune! With a pound to start upon--two pounds, for I'd have borrowed yours--three months from now I might have been driving in my barouche, with you behind it, Bertrand, in a tasteful livery.

BERTRAND (_seeing CHARLES_). Lord, a policeman!

MACAIRE. Steady! What is a policeman? Justice's blind eye. (_To CHARLES._) I think, sir, you are in the force?

CHARLES. I am, sir, and it was in that character----

MACAIRE. Ah, sir, a fine service!

CHARLES. It is, sir, and if your papers----

MACAIRE. You become your uniform. Have you a mother? Ah, well, well!

CHARLES. My duty, sir----

MACAIRE. They tell me one Macaire--is not that his name, Bertrand?--has broken gaol at Lyons?

CHARLES. He has, sir, and it is precisely for that reason--

MACAIRE. Well, good-bye. (_Shaking CHARLES by the hand and leading him towards the door, L.U.E._) Sweet spot, sweet spot. The scenery is.... (_kisses his finger-tips. Exit CHARLES._) And now, what is a policeman?

BERTRAND. A bobby.