LA RONDE

 

 

 

"La Ronde" from Plays and Stories, by Arthur

 

Schnitzler.  Copyright 1982 by the Continuum

 

Publishing Company

 

Reprinted with permission.

CHARACTERS

 

THE WHORE

THE SOLDIER

THE PARLOR MAID

THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN

THE YOUNG WIFE

THE HUSBAND

THE LITTLE MISS

THE POET

THE ACTRESS

THE COUNT

 

THE TIME: The 1890s. THE PLACE: Vienna.

 

1 The Whore and the Soldier

 

Late in the evening. On the Augarten Bridge. Soldier on his way home, whistling.

WHORE:         Want to come with me, Angel Face?

(Soldier turns round, then walks on.)

Wouldn't you like to come with me? SOLDIER: You mean me? Angel Face?!

WHORE:         Who do you think? Come on. Come with me. I live near here.

SOLDIER:       No time. Have to get back to the barracks.

WHORE:         You'll get back to the barracks all right. But it's nicer with me.

SOLDIER (near her now): Yeah. Could be.

WHORE:         Uh, ub! A cop might come.

SOLDIER:       Nonsense! What's a cop? I got my sword on.

WHORE:         Come on with me!

SOLDIER:       Leave me alone. I got no money anyhow.

WHORE:         I don't need any money.

SOLDIER (Stops. They are under a street lamp.): You don't need any money? Who are you for God's sake?

WHORE:         Civilians have to pay, sure. A guy like you can get it from me for nothing.

SOLDIER:       So you're the one Huher told me about…

WHORE:         I don't know any Huber.

SOLDIER:       Yes, you're the one. That's right. The cafe in the Schiff Gasse. Then he went home with you.

 

 

 

 

 

WHORE:         The cafe' in the Schiff Gasse! I've taken plenty of guys home from there. Eh! (Her eyes tell how many.)

SOLDIER:       Let's go then, let's go.

WHORE:         What? You're in a hurry now?

SOLDIER:       Well, what are we waiting for? I gotta be back in the barracks at ten.

WHORE:         How long you been in the army?

SOLDIER:       What business is that of yours? Live far from here?

WHORE:         Ten minutes' walk.

SOLDIER:       Too far. How about a little kiss?

WHORE (kisses him): I like that part the best. When I like a guy.

SOLDIER:       I don't. No. I can't go with you. Too far.

WHORE:         Tell you what. Come tomorrow. In the afternoon.

Soldier:   Okay. Give me the address.

WHORE:         Only-I bet you won't come.

SOLDIER:       I told you I would, didn't I?

WHORE:         Tell you what-if it's too far tonight-how about over there? (She points toward the Danube.)

SOLDIER:       What's over there?

WHORE:         Lovely and quiet there, too. No one around this late.

SOLDIER:       Aw, that's no good.

WHORE:         It's always good-with me. Come on, stay with me. Who knows if we'll still be around tomorrow?

SOLDIER:       Okay, then. But let's make it snappy.

WHORE:         Easy. It's so dark there. One slip, and you're in the Danube.

SOLDIER:       Might be the best thing.

WHORE:         Pst! Hey, wait a second. We're lust coming to a bench.

SOLDIER:       You know your way around.

WHORE:         Wish I had a guy like you for a boyfriend.

SOLDIER:       I'd make you jealous too much.

WHORE:         I'd know how to take care of that.

SOLDIER:       Think so?

WHORE:         Not so loud. Could be a cop around at that-he might be lost. Who'd think we were right in the middle of Vienna?

SOLDIER:       Over here. Come on over here!

WHORE:         What's got into you? If we slip, we're in the river!

SOLDIER (has grabbed hold of her): Ah! now

WHORE:         Hold on tight now. SOLDIER: Don't worry…

* * * * *

WHORE:         It'd have been a lot better on the bench.

SOLDIER:       On the bench, off the bench . . . Well, you getting up?

WHORE:         Where are you rushing off-

SOLDIER:       Got to get back to the barracks. I'm late anyhow.

WHORE:         Tell me, soldier-what's your name?

SOLDIER:       What's my name got to do with you?

WHORE:         Mine's-Leocadia.

SOLDIER:       Ha! That's a new one!

WHORE:         Soldier

SOLDIER:       Well, what do you want?

WHORE:         How about a dime for the janitor?

SOLDIER:       Ha! . . . What do you think I am? 'Bye now! Leoca­dia

WHORE:         You crook! You son of a bitch!

(He is gone.)

 

 

 

2 The Soldier and the Parlor Maid

 

The Prater. Sunday evening. A path leading from the Wursteipra­ter- or amusement park~out into dark avenues of trees. The din of the amusement park is audible. So is the sound of the Fünf­kreuzertanz- banal polka- played by a brass band. The Soldier. The Parlor Maid.

PARLOR MAID: Yes, but now you must tell me. Why were you in such a hurry to leave?

(Soldier laughs stupidly; he is embarrassed.)

I thought it was marvelous. I love dancing. (Soldier takes her by the waist. Parlor Maid lets him.)

But we're not dancing now. Why are you holding me so tight?

SOLDIER:       What's your name? Kathi?

PARLOR MAID: You've got a Kathi on your mind.

SOLDIER:       I know. I've got it: Marie.

PARLOR MAID: Look, it's dark here. I get so scared.

                                

SOLDIER:       Nothing to be afraid of with me around. Just leave it to uncle.

PARI.OR MAID: But where are we going to, though? There's no one around at all. Let's go back, come on! How dark it is!

SOLDIER (pulling at his Virginia cigar till the tip glows): See it get lighter? Ha! – my  little treasure!

PARLOR MAID: Ooh! What are you doing? If I'd known this.

SOLDIER: Nice and soft! Damned if you're not the nicest and softest one in the whole bunch, Fräulein!

PARLOR MAID: What whole bunch?

SOLDIER:       In there-in the Swoboda.

PARLOR MAID: You tried all of them?

SOLDIER:       Oh, you notice. Dancing. You notice a lot of things. Ha!

PARLOR MAID: You danced with that blonde more than with me. The one with the crooked face.

SOLDIER:       An old friend of a buddy of mine.

PARLOR MAID: You mean of that corporal with the turned-up mustache?

SOLDIER:       Nah. The civilian. You know-the one at the table with me before. With the hoarse voice?

PARLOR MAID: Oh, yes. I know. He's pretty fresh.

SOLDIER:       Did he try something with you? I'll show the bastard. What did he try?

PARLOR MAID: Oh, nothing. I just saw how he was with the other girls.

SOLDIER:       Now, Fräulein, tell me.

PARLOR MAID: Ooh! You'll burn me with that cigar.

SOLDIER:       Oh, so sorry! Fräulein-or can I call you . . . Marie?

PARLOR MAID: We haven't known each other very long.

SOLDIER:       Hell, there's lots of people can't stand each other and still use first names.

PARLOR MAID: Let's make it next time, when. . . . You see, Herr Franz…

SOLDIER:       You remembered my name!

PARLOR MAID: You see, Herr Franz...

SOlDIER:         Make it just-Franz, Fräulein.

PARLOR MAID: Well then don't be so fresh. Sh! What if somebody comes!

SOLDIER:       What if they do? You can't see two feet in front of you.

PARLOR MAID: But, heavens, where are we going?

SOLDIER: Look! There's two just like us.

PARLOR MAID: Where? I can't see a thing.

SOLDIER:       There. Right up there.

PARLOR MAID: What do you say like us for?

SOLDIER:       Oh, I only mean-they kinda like each other.

PARLOR MAID: Hey, watch out! What was that? I nearly fell.

SOLDIER:       it's these railings they put round the grass.

PARLOR MAID: Don't push so hard. I'll fall right over.

SOLDIER: Sh! Not so loud!

PARLOR MAID: Look now I'm really going to scream! What are you doing . . . hey

SOLDIER:       There's no one for miles around.

PARLOR MAID: Let's go back with the rest of them.

SOLDIER: But we don't need them, Marie, what we need is ub, huh

PARLOR MAID: Herr Franz, please! For Heaven's sake!! Now lis­ten, if I'd had . . . any idea . . . oh! . . . oh!! . . . yes

* * * *

SOLDIER (blissfully): Jesus Christ Almighty! . . . Ah-h!

PARLOR MAID: . . . I can't see your face at all.

SOLDIER:       My face? . . . Hell!

*     * * * *

SOLDIER:       Now look, Fräulein, you can't stay in the grass all night.

PARLOR MAID: Oh, come on, Franz, help me up!

SOLDIER:       Okay. (He grabs her.) Oops!

PARLOR MAID: Oh dear, Franz!

SOLDIER:       Yes, yes? What's the matter with Franz?

PARLOR MAID: You're a bad man, Franz.

SOLDIER:       Oh, so that's it? Hey, wait for me!

PARLOR MAID: What do you let me go for?

SOLDIER:       Can't I get this cigar lit for God's sake?

PARLOR MAID: It's so dark.

 

SOLDIER: Well, tomorrow it'll be light again.

PARLOR MAID: At least tell me-do you like me?

SOLDIER: I thought you might have noticed! (He laughs.)

PARLOR MAID: Where are we going?

SOLDIER: Why, back!

 

                                

PARLOR MAID: Oh, please, Franz, not so quick!

SOLDIER: What's the matter? I don't like running around in the dark.

PARLOR MAID: Tell me, Franz, do you . . . like me?

SOLDIER: I just told you I liked you.

PARLOR MAID: Come on then, give me little kiss.

SOLDIER (condescending): Here . . . listen! You can hear that music again.

PARLOR MAID: You probably want to go dancing again.

SOLDIER: Sure. What else?

PARLOR MAID: Well, Franz, look, I must be getting back. They'll gripe anyhow, the lady of the house is such a . . . she'd like it best if we never went out at all.

SOLDIER: Sure. You go home then.

PARLOR MAID: Herr Franz! I thought . . . you might take me.

SOLDIER:       Home? Eh! (The open vowel indicating disgust.)

PARLOR MAID: Oh, please, it's so dreary-going home alone!

SOLDIER: Where do you live?

PARLOR MAID: It's not far-Porzellan Gasse.

SOLDIER: Oh! Then we go the same way. . . . But it's too early for me! I want some fun. I got a late pass tonight. Don't have to be back in the barracks till twelve. I'm going dancing.

PARLOR MAID: I see how it is. It's that blonde. The one with the crooked face.

SOLDIER: Ha! . . . Her face ain't so bad.

PARLOR MAID: Heavens, you men are wicked! I bet you do this to every girl.

SOLDIER: That'd be too much!

PARLOR MAID: Franz, do me a favor. Not tonight-stay just with me tonight, look

SOLDIER: Okay, okay. But I can dance for a while first, I suppose?

PARLOR MAID: Tonight I'm not dancing with anyone else.

SOLDIER: Here it is.

PARLOR MAID: What?

SOLDIER: The Swoboda! How quickly we got back, huh? And they're still playing that thing. (Singing at  the band.) Tatata­tum, tatatatum! . . . All right, if you want to wait, I'll take you home. If you don't, I'll be saying good night.

PARLOR MAID: I think I'll wait.

SOLDIER: Why don't you get yourself a glass of beer? (Turning to a blonde, dancing by with her boy, putting on a "refined" ac­cent.) May I have the pleasure?

 

 

3 The Parlor Maid and the Young Gentleman

 

A hot summer afternoon. His parents are off in the country. The cook is having her half-day. In the kitchen the Parlor Maid is writing the Soldier a letter; he is her lover. There is a ring from the Young Gentleman's room. She gets up and goes into the Young Gentleman's room. The Young Gentleman is lying on the sofa with cigarette and French novel.

 

 

PARLOR MAID: You rang, Herr Alfred?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh, Yes . . . Marie . . . yes, I did ring as

a matter of fact. . . . Now what was it? . . . Oh, I know, let

the blinds down, Marie, will you? . . . It's cooler with the blinds

down . . . don't you think?

(Parlor Maid goes to the window and lets the Venetian blinds down.)

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (goes on reading): What are you doing, Marie? That's right. Oh, but now I can't see to read.

PARLOR MAID: The way you always study so, Herr Alfred!

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (passing over this loftily): That'Il be all, thanks.

(The Parlor Maid goes out.

The Young Gentleman tries to go on reading; soon lets

the book fall; rings again.

The Parlor Maid is in the doorway.)

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Look, Marie. . . now, um, what I was going to say . . . well . . . yes, is there any cognac in the house?

PARLOR MAID: Yes, Herr Alfred. But it's locked up.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh. Well, who has the key?

PARLOR MAID: Lini has the key.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Who's Lini?

PARLOR MAID: The cook, Herr Alfred.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh. Then go and tell Lini.

PARLOR MAID: Well . . . Lini's having her half day.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh.

 

                                                                                                                                                                    

 

PARLOR MAID: Shall 1 run over to the cafe for you, Herr Alfred?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh, no. . . hot enough as it is.1 don't need cognac anyway. Listen, Marie, just bring me a glass of water. Wait, Marie-let it run, hm? Till it's quite cold?

(The Parlor Maid goes.

The Young Gentleman is watching her go when the Par­lor Maid turns round at the door. The Young Gentleman stares in to space. The Parlor Maid turns the faucet on and lets the water run. Meanwhile she goes to her little room, washes her hands, and arranges her curls in the mirror. Then she brings the Young Gentleman the glass of water. She walks to the sofa.

The Young Gentleman raises himself part way. The Par­lor Maid puts the glass in his hand. Their fingers touch.)

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh. Thanks . . . Well, what is it? Now be careful. Put the glass back on the tray. . . . (He lies back and stretches out.) What's the time?

PARLOR MAID: Five o'clock, Herr Alfred.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I see. Five. Thank you.

(The Parlor Maid goes; at the door, she turns; the Young Gentleman is looking; she notices and smiles.

The Young Gentleman lies where he is for a while, then suddenly gets up. He walks to the door; then returns and lies down on the sofa. He tries to read again. In a couple of minutes, he again rings.

The Parlor Maid enters with a smile which she makes no attempt to hide.)

YOUNG          GENTLEMAN: Look, Marie, what I was going to ask you didn't Dr. Schueller call this morning?

PARLOR MAID: No. No one called this morning.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well. That's strange. So Dr. Schueller didn't call? You know him-Dr. Schueller?

PARLOR MAID: Oh, yes. The tall gentleman with the big black heard.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Yes. Then maybe he did call?

PARLOR MAID: No. No one called, Herr Alfred.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (taking the plunge): Come here, Marie.

PARLOR ~IAID (coming a little closer): Yes, Herr Alfred?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Closer . . . yes . . . um. . . I only thought

PARLOR MAID: Yes, Herr Alfred?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Thought . . . I thought . . . about that blouse. What kind is it? . . . Oh, come on, closer. I won't bite you.

(Parlor Maid comes.)

PARLOR MAID: What's this about my blouse? You don't like it, Herr Alfred?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (takes hold of the blouse and, in so doing, pulls the Parlor Maid down on him): Blue, is it? Yes, what a lovely blue! (Simply.) You're very nicely dressed, Marie.

PARLOR MAID: But, Herr Alfred!

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, what? (He's opened the blouse. Mat­ter-of-fact.) You've got lovely white skin, Marie.

PARLOR MAID: I think you're flattering me, Herr Alfred.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (kissing her bosom): This can't hurt you, can it?

PARLOR MAID: Oh no!

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: How you're sighing! Why do you sigh like that?

PARLOR MAID: Oh, Herr Alfred

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: And what nice slippers you have on

PARLOR MAID: . . . but . . . Herr Alfred . . . if the doorbell rings

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Who'd ring at this hour?

PARLOR MAID: But, Herr Alfred . . . you see, it's so light!

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oho, you needn't be embarrassed with me! You needn't be embarrassed with anybody . . . pretty as you are! I swear you are, Marie! You know, your hair has such a pleasant smell.

PARLOR MAID: Herr Alfred

YOUNG          GENTLEMAN: Don't make such a fuss, Marie. I've seen you quite different. When I came in late the other night, and went for a glass of water, the door to your room was open yes

PARLOR MAID (hides her face): Heavens, I'd no idea you could be so naughty, Herr Alfred.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I saw a great, great deal . . . this . . . and this . . . and this . . . and …

PARLOR MAID: Herr Alfred!

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Come on. . . here. . . that's right, yes…

 

PARLOR MAID: But if anyone rings …

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Now stop it, for Heaven's sake. We won't go to the door.

* * * * *

The doorbell rings.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Christ Almighty! . . . What a racket the man makes! Maybe he rang before, and we just didn't notice any­thing.

PARLOR MAID: Oh, I kept my ears open the whole time.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, now, go and see-through the peep­hole.

PARLOR MAID: Herr Alfred. . . You are . . . No! . . . a naughty man!

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Now please, go take a look. (The Parlor Maid goes. The Young Gentleman quickly pulls up the Venetian blinds.)

PARLOR MAID (comes back): Whoever it was, he's gone away again. There's no one there. Maybe it was Dr. Schueller.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (disagreeably affected): That'll be all, thanks.

(The Parlor Maid comes closer.)

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (retreating): Look, Marie, I'm going. To the cafe.

PARLOR MAID (tenderly): So soon . . . Herr Alfred?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (severely): I'm going to the cafe-. If Dr. Schueller should come here

PARLOR MAID: He won't be here today.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (more severely): If Dr. Schueller should come

here, I…I'm in the cafe. (He goes into the next room.)

(The Parlor Maid takes a cigar from the smoking table, slips it

in her pocket, and goes out.)

 

 

 

4 The Young Gentleman and the Young Wife

 

Evening. A drawing room in a house in the Schwind Gasse, fur­nished with cheap elegance.

 

The Young Gentleman has just come in and, still in hat and over­coat, lights the candles. Then he opens the door into the next room and glances in. The glow of the candles in the drawing room falls on the parquet floor and makes its way to the four-poster against the rear wall; a reddish glow from the fireplace in a corner of the bedroom is thrown on the bed curtains.

The Young Gentleman also inspects the bedroom. He takes an atomizer from the dressing table and sprays the pillows with a fine stream of violet perfume. Then he goes with the spray through both rooms, squeezing the little bulb the whole time, so that soon the whole place smells of violets. He takes off hat and overcoat, sits down in a blue velvet armchair, lights a cigarette, and smokes. After a short while he gets up to make sure that the green shutters are drawn. Suddenly he goes back to the bedroom, opens the drawer of the bedside table, feels around till he finds a tortoise shell hairpin. He looks round for a place to hide it and finally puts it in his overcoat pocket. Then he opens a cupboard in the draw­ing room, takes out a silver tray, a cognac bottle, and two liqueur glasses, and puts it all on the table. He goes back to his overcoat and fishes out a small white parcel, which he opens and puts next to the cognac bottle. He returns to the cupboard and takes out two dessert plates, knives, and forks. From the small parcel he extracts a marron glace and eats it. Then he pours himself a glass of cognac and quickly drinks it down. He looks at his watch. He paces the room. In front of the large mirror on the wall he stops for a while, smoothing his hair and little moustache with a pocket comb. He goes to the door to the hall and listens-not a sound. He draws the blue curtains screening the door to the bedroom. The doorbell rings. The Young Gentleman gives a start. He drops into an armchair and only rises when the door opens and the Young Wife enters.

The Young Wife thickly veiled, shuts the door behind her and stands for a moment with her left hand on her heart, as though she had to master intense emotion.

 

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (goes to her, takes her left hand, and imprints a kiss on the white, black-trimmed glove; softly): I thank you.

YOUNG WIFE: Alfred-Alfred!

YOUNG GENTLEMAN. Come in, dear lady . . . come in, Frau Emma.

YOUNG WIFE: Let me alone for a moment, please-oh, please, Alfred!

           

(She stays close by the door.

The Young Gentleman stands before her, holding her hand.)

YOUNG WIFE: But where am I, actually?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: In my flat.

YOUNG WIFE: This building is a horror, Alfred.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Why? It's very dignified.

YOUNG WIFE: I met two men on the stairs.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: People you know?

YOUNG WIFE: I don't know. Maybe.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Forgive me- you must know who you know!

YOUNG WIFE: But I didn't see a thing.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Even if they'd been your best friends, they couldn't have recognized you. Even I . . . if I didn't know it was you . . . this veil

YOUNG WIFE: There are two.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Won't you come a bit closer in? And any­way do take off your hat.

YOUNG WIFE: What are you thinking of, Alfred? I told you-five minutes. No, not a second more! I swear

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Then the veil!

YOUNG WIFE: There are two.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh, well, both veils then-at least I'm al­lowed to see you!

YOUNG WIFE: Do you really love me, Alfred?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (deeply hurt): Emma, can you ask .

YOUNG WIFE: It's so hot in here.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: But you still have your fur cape on-you're going to catch cold!

YOUNG WIFE (at last steps into the room, throwing herself into an armchair): I'm dead tired.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Permit me.

(He takes her veil off, takes out the hatpin, puts hat, pin, and veils down side by side on the sofa.

The Young Wife lets it happen.

The Young Gentleman stands before her, shaking his

head.)

YOUNG WIFE: What's the matter with you?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Never were you so beautiful!

YOUNG WIFE: How's that?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Alone. . . alone with you. . . Emma (He sinks on one knee beside the armchair, takes both her hands and covers them with kisses.)

YOUNG WIFE: And now . . . let me go. I have done what you asked.

(The Young Gentleman drops his head on to her lap.)

YOUNG WIFE: You promised me that you'd be good.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Yes.

YOUNG WIFE: This room's stifling.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN gets up. You still have your cape on.

YOUNG WIFE: Put it with my hat.

(The Young Gentleman takes off her cape and puts it on the sofa along with the hat and the other things.)

YOUNG WIFE: And now-adieu-

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Emma!

YOUNG WIFE: The five minutes are up.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: No, no! You haven't been here one minute yet!

YOUNG WIFE: Alfred, please, tell me exactly what time it is.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Quarter past six, on the nose.

YOUNG WIFE: I should have been at my sister's long ago.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: You can see your sister any time.

YOUNG WIFE: Oh God, Alfred, why did you get me to do this?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Because I . . . worship you, Emma.

YOUNG WIFE: How many women have you said that to?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Since I saw you, to none.

YOUNG WIFE: What a frivolous woman I am! If anyone had told me-a week ago . . . or even yesterday

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: It was the day before yesterday you prom­ised

YOUNG WIFE: Because you kept tormenting me. But I didn't want to, God is my witness-I didn't want to. Yesterday I'd made up my mind. . . . Do you know I even wrote you a long letter last night?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I didn't get it.

YOUNG WIFE: I tore it up. I should have sent it after all!

 

 

 

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: It's better like this.

YOUNG WIFE: No, it's scandalous . . . of me. I can't understand myself. Good-bye, Alfred, let me go.

(The Young Gentleman takes her in his arms and covers

her face with hot kisses.)

YOUNG WIFE: So this is . . . how you keep your promise?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: One more kiss! Just one.

YOUNG WIFE: The last!

(He kisses her, she reciprocates, and their lips stay to­gether a long time.)

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: May I tell you something, Emma? It is only now that I know what happiness is.

(The Young Wife sinks back in an armchair.)

YOUNG GENTLEMAN (sits on the arm of the chair, putting his arm gently round her neck.) . . . Or rather, only now do I know what happiness might be.

(The Young Wife gives a profound sigh.

The Young Gentleman kisses her again.)

YOUNG WIFE: Alfred, Alfred, what are you making me into? YOUNG GENTLEMAN: It's not really so uncomfortable here, is it?

And we are so safe. It's a thousand times better than meeting in the open air.

YOUNG WIFE: Oh, don't remind me.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Even those meetings 1 shall think of with delight! Every minute I've had the privilege of spending at your side will linger forever as a Sweet memory.

YOUNG WIFE: You remember the Industrial Ball?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Do I remember? . . . But didn't I sit next to you during supper-right up close? The champagne your hus­band-(The Young Wife gives him a look of protest.)

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I was only going to mention the champagne! Tell me, Emma, wouldn't you like a glass of cognac?

YOUNG WIFE: Maybe just a drop. But first let me have a glass of water.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Yes . . . now, where is . . . Oh yes. (He draws the curtains back from the door and goes into the bedroom.

The Young Wife looks after him.

The Young Gentleman returns with a filled decanter and two glasses.)

YOUNG WIFE: Where were you?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: In the-next room.

(He pours a glass of water for her.)

YOUNG WIFE: Now I'm going to ask you something, Alfred, and you must swear to tell the truth.

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I swear

YOUNG WIFE: Was there ever another woman in these rooms?

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: But, Emma, this house has been around for twenty years!

YOUNG WIFE: You know what I mean, Alfred. . . with you

YOUNG GENTLEMAN: With me, here? Emma! It's not nice for you to think about such things.

YOUNG WIFE: Then you have . . . how shall I . . . ? But no, I'd better not ask yo