Jeanne.  Ladies also?

Emile.  Of course.  But that doesn’t mean anything.  He writes plays, and his latest one has its first performance tonight.  I suppose he had with him some of the actresses.

Jeanne.  Did he recognise you?

Emile.  No, he doesn’t know who I am, and it is just as well.  I know my place as a workman, and I don’t care for any condescension from those that are above me.

Jeanne.  But if he leaves us without anything to live on?

Emile.  Well, you see, when it gets that far, then I suppose I shall have to introduce myself.  But you don’t expect anything of the kind, do you—­seeing that he is fond of you and very much attached to the child?

Jeanne.  I don’t know, but I have a feeling that something dreadful is in store for me.

Emile.  Has he promised to marry you?

Jeanne.  No, not promised exactly, but he has held out hopes.

Emile.  Hopes, yes!  Do you remember my words at the start:  don’t hope for anything, for those above us don’t marry downward.

Jeanne.  But such things have happened.

Emile.  Yes, they have happened.  But, would you feel at home in his world?  I can’t believe it, for you wouldn’t even understand what they were talking of.  Now and then I take my meals where he is eating—­out in the kitchen is my place, of course—­and I don’t make out a word of what they say.

Jeanne.  So you take your meals at that place?

Emile.  Yes, in the kitchen.

Jeanne.  And think of it, he has never asked me to come with him.

Emile.  Well, that’s rather to his credit, and it shows he has some respect for the mother of his child.  The women over there are a queer lot.

Jeanne.  Is that so?

Emile.  But Maurice never pays any attention to the women.  There is something square about that fellow.

Jeanne.  That’s what I feel about him, too, but as soon as there is a woman in it, a man isn’t himself any longer.

Emile. [Smiling] You don’t tell me!  But listen:  are you hard up for money?

Jeanne.  No, nothing of that kind.

Emile.  Well, then the worst hasn’t come yet—­Look!  Over there! 
There he comes.  And I’ll leave you.  Good-bye, little girl.

Jeanne.  Is he coming?  Yes, that’s him.

Emile.  Don’t make him mad now—­with your jealousy, Jeanne! [Goes out.]

Jeanne.  No, I won’t.

(Maurice enters.)

Marion. [Runs up to him and is lifted up into his arms] Papa, papa!

Maurice.  My little girl! [Greets Jeanne] Can you forgive me,
Jeanne, that I have kept you waiting so long?

Jeanne.  Of course I can.