Poirier—­We owe everything to France.  France is our mother.

Verdelet—­I understand the vexation of a son whose mother remarries; I understand why he doesn’t go to the wedding:  but if he has the right kind of heart he won’t turn sulky.  If the second husband makes her happy, he’ll soon offer him a friendly hand.

Poirier—­The nobility cannot always hold itself aloof, as it begins to perceive.  More than one illustrious name has set the example:  Monsieur de Valcherriere, Monsieur de Chazerolles, Monsieur de Mont Louis—­

Gaston—­These men have done as they thought best.  I don’t judge them, but I cannot imitate them.

Antoinette—­Why not, Gaston?

Gaston—­Ask Montmeyran.

Verdelet—­The Duke’s uniform answers for him.

Duke—­Excuse me, a soldier has but one opinion—­his duty; but one adversary—­the enemy.

Poirier—­However, Monsieur—­

Gaston—­Enough, it isn’t a matter of politics, Monsieur Poirier.  One may discuss opinions, but not sentiments.  I am bound by gratitude.  My fidelity is that of a servant and of a friend.  Not another word. [To the Duke.] I beg your pardon, my dear fellow.  This is the first time we’ve talked politics here, and I promise you it shall be the last.

The Duke [in a low voice to Antoinette]—­You’ve been forced into making a mistake, Madame.

Antoinette—­I know it, now that it’s too late.

Verdelet [softly, to Poirier]—­Now you’re in a fine fix.

Poirier [in same tone]—­He’s repulsed the first assault, but I don’t raise the siege.

Gaston—­I’m not resentful, Monsieur Poirier.  Perhaps I spoke a little too strongly, but this is a tender point with me, and unintentionally you wounded me.  Shake hands.

Poirier—­You are very kind.

A Servant—­There are some people in the little parlor who say they have an appointment with Monsieur Poirier.

Poirier—­Very well, ask them to wait a moment. [The servant goes out.] Your creditors, son-in-law.

Gaston—­Yours, my dear father-in-law.  I’ve turned them over to you.

Duke—­As a wedding present.

THE FEELINGS OF AN ARTIST

From ‘M.  Poirier’s Son-in-Law’

Poirier [alone]—­How vexatious he is, that son-in-law of mine! and there’s no way to get rid of him.  He’ll die a nobleman, for he will do nothing and he is good for nothing.—­There’s no end to the money he costs me.—­He is master of my house.—­I’ll put a stop to it. [He rings.  Enter a servant.] Send up the porter and the cook.  We shall see my son-in-law!  I have set up my back.  I’ve unsheathed my velvet paws.  You will make no concessions, eh, my fine gentleman?  Take your comfort!  I will not yield either:  you may remain marquis, and I will again become a bourgeois.  At least I’ll have the pleasure of living to my fancy.