Waiter.  So the lady has to put up for her Alphonse!  Alphonse!  Do you know what that is?

Henriette. [Looking through her pocket-book] Oh, merciful heavens!  I have no money either!—­Why doesn’t Adolphe come back?

Detective.  Well, did you ever see such rotters!  Get out of here, and put up something as security.  That kind of ladies generally have their fingers full of rings.

Maurice.  Can it be possible that we have sunk so low?

Henriette. [Takes off a ring and hands it to the waiter] The Abbe was right:  this is not the work of man.

Maurice.  No, it’s the devil’s!—­But if we leave before Adolphe returns, he will think that we have deceived him and run away.

Henriette.  That would be in keeping with the rest—­But we’ll go into the river now, won’t we?

Maurice. [Takes Henriette by the hand as they walk out together] Into the river—­yes!

(Curtain.)

ACT IV

FIRST SCENE

(In the Luxembourg Gardens, at the group of Adam and Eve.  The wind is shaking the trees and stirring up dead leaves, straws, and pieces of paper from the ground.)

(Maurice and Henriette are seated on a bench.)

Henriette.  So you don’t want to die?

Maurice.  No, I am afraid.  I imagine that I am going to be very cold down there in the grave, with only a sheet to cover me and a few shavings to lie on.  And besides that, it seems to me as if there were still some task waiting for me, but I cannot make out what it is.

Henriette.  But I can guess what it is.

Maurice.  Tell me.

Henriette.  It is revenge.  You, like me, must have suspected Jeanne and Emile of sending the detectives after me yesterday.  Such a revenge on a rival none but a woman could devise.

Maurice.  Exactly what I was thinking.  But let me tell you that my suspicions go even further.  It seems as if my sufferings during these last few days had sharpened my wits.  Can you explain, for instance, why the waiter from the Auberge des Adrets and the head waiter from the Pavilion were not called to testify at the hearing?

Henriette.  I never thought of it before.  But now I know why.  They had nothing to tell, because they had not been listening.

Maurice.  But how could the Commissaire then know what we had been saying?

Henriette.  He didn’t know, but he figured it out.  He was guessing, and he guessed right.  Perhaps he had had to deal with some similar case before.

Maurice.  Or else he concluded from our looks what we had been saying.  There are those who can read other people’s thoughts—­ Adolphe being the dupe, it seemed quite natural that we should have called him an ass.  It’s the rule, I understand, although it’s varied at times by the use of “idiot” instead.  But ass was nearer at hand in this case, as we had been talking of carriages and triumphal chariots.  It is quite simple to figure out a fourth fact, when you have three known ones to start from.