Chapter 125

MACAIRE, MARQUIS

MARQUIS. Well, sir?

MACAIRE. My lord, I feel for you. (_Business. They sit, R._)

MARQUIS. And now, sir?

MACAIRE. The bond that joins us is remarkable and touching.

MARQUIS. Well, sir?

MACAIRE (_touching him on the breast_). You have there thirty thousand francs.

MARQUIS. Well, sir?

MACAIRE. I was but thinking of the inequalities of life, my lord: that I, who, for all you know, may be the father of your son, should have nothing; and that you, who, for all I know, may be the father of mine, should be literally bulging with bank notes.... Where do you keep them at night?

MARQUIS. Under my pillow. I think it rather ingenious.

MACAIRE. Admirably so. I applaud the device.

MARQUIS. Well, sir?

MACAIRE. Do you snuff, my lord?

MARQUIS. No, sir, I do not.

MACAIRE. My lord, I am a poor man.

MARQUIS. Well, sir? and what of that?

MACAIRE. The affections, my lord, are priceless. Money will not buy them; or, at least, it takes a great deal.

MARQUIS. Sir, your sentiments do you honour.

MACAIRE. My lord, you are rich.

MARQUIS. Well, sir?

MACAIRE. Now follow me, I beseech you. Here am I, my lord; and there, if I may so express myself, are you. Each has a father's heart, and there we are equal; each claims yon interesting lad, and there again we are on a par. But, my lord--and here we come to the inequality, and what I consider the unfairness of the thing--you have thirty thousand francs, and I, my lord, have not a rap. You mark me! not a rap, my lord! My lord, put yourself in my position; consider what must be my feelings, my desires; and--hey?

MARQUIS. I fail to grasp....

MACAIRE (_with irritation_). My dear man, there is the door of the house; here am I; there (_touching MARQUIS on the breast_) are thirty thousand francs. Well, now?

MARQUIS. I give you my word of honour, sir, I gather nothing; my mind is quite unused to such prolonged exertion. If the boy be yours, he is not mine; if he be mine, he is not yours; and if he is neither of ours, or both of ours ... in short, my mind....

MACAIRE. My lord, will you lay those thirty thousand francs upon the table?

MARQUIS. I fail to grasp ... but if it will in any way oblige you.... (_Does so._)

MARCAIRE. Now, my lord, follow me: I take them up; you see? I put them in my pocket; you follow me? This is my hat; here is my stick; and here is my--my friend's bundle.

MARQUIS. But that is my cloak.

MARCAIRE. Precisely. Now, my lord, one more effort of your lordship's mind. If I were to go out of that door, with the full intention--follow me close--the full intention of never being heard of more, what would you do?

MARQUIS. I!--send for the police.

MARCAIRE. Take your money! (_Dashing down the notes._) Man, if I met you in a lane! (_He drops his head upon the table._)

MARQUIS. The poor soul is insane. The other man, whom I suppose to be his keeper, is very much to blame.

MARCAIRE (_raising his head_). I have a light! (_To MARQUIS._) With invincible oafishness, my lord, I cannot struggle. I pass you by; I leave you gaping by the wayside; I blush to have a share in the progeny of such an owl. Off, off, and send the tapster!

MARQUIS. Poor fellow! (_Exit._)