Louis.  Not that I’m selfish.  With all my faults I dont think Ive ever been really selfish.  No artist can:  Art is too large for that.  You will marry again, Jennifer.

Mrs Dubedat.  Oh, how can you, Louis?

Louis [insisting childishly] Yes, because people who have found marriage happy always marry again.  Ah, I shant be jealous. [Slyly.] But dont talk to the other fellow too much about me:  he wont like it. [Almost chuckling] I shall be your lover all the time; but it will be a secret from him, poor devil!

Sir Patrick.  Come! youve talked enough.  Try to rest awhile.

Louis [wearily] Yes:  I’m fearfully tired; but I shall have a long rest presently.  I have something to say to you fellows.  Youre all there, arnt you?  I’m too weak to see anything but Jennifer’s bosom.  That promises rest.

Ridgeon.  We are all here.

Louis [startled] That voice sounded devilish.  Take care, Ridgeon:  my ears hear things that other people’s cant.  Ive been thinking—­thinking.  I’m cleverer than you imagine.

Sir Patrick [whispering to Ridgeon] Youve got on his nerves, Colly.  Slip out quietly.

Ridgeon [apart to Sir Patrick] Would you deprive the dying actor of his audience?

Louis [his face lighting up faintly with mischievous glee] I heard that, Ridgeon.  That was good.  Jennifer dear:  be kind to Ridgeon always; because he was the last man who amused me.

Ridgeon [relentless] Was I?

Louis.  But it’s not true.  It’s you who are still on the stage. 
I’m half way home already.

Mrs Dubedat [to Ridgeon] What did you say?

Louis [answering for him] Nothing, dear.  Only one of those little secrets that men keep among themselves.  Well, all you chaps have thought pretty hard things of me, and said them.

B. B. [quite overcome] No, no, Dubedat.  Not at all.

Louis.  Yes, you have.  I know what you all think of me.  Dont imagine I’m sore about it.  I forgive you.

Walpole [involuntarily] Well, damn me! [Ashamed] I beg your pardon.

Louis.  That was old Walpole, I know.  Don’t grieve, Walpole.  I’m perfectly happy.  I’m not in pain.  I don’t want to live.  Ive escaped from myself.  I’m in heaven, immortal in the heart of my beautiful Jennifer.  I’m not afraid, and not ashamed. [Reflectively, puzzling it out for himself weakly] I know that in an accidental sort of way, struggling through the unreal part of life, I havnt always been able to live up to my ideal.  But in my own real world I have never done anything wrong, never denied my faith, never been untrue to myself.  Ive been threatened and blackmailed and insulted and starved.  But Ive played the game.  Ive fought the good fight.  And now it’s all over, theres an indescribable peace. [He feebly folds his hands and utters his creed] I believe in Michael Angelo, Velasquez, and Rembrandt; in the might of design, the mystery of color, the redemption of all things by Beauty everlasting, and the message of Art that has made these hands blessed.  Amen.  Amen. [He closes his eyes and lies still].