# The Strand Magazine/Volume 3/Issue 15/Clouds with Silver Linings

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Clouds with Silver Linings.
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT.
Adapted from the French of Mme. de Girardin, by James Mortimer.
Dramatis Personæ
Adrien des Aubiers (a young French officer). Lucien (his friend). Noel (an old family servant). Madame des Aubiers. Blanche (her daughter). Mathilde de Pierreval (betrothed to Adrien). The Scene is laid at a Château near Bordeaux, during the Franco-German war of 1870-71.
Scene.—A well furnished drawing-room, with folding-doors C., opening into a corridor. Window with heavy curtains L.U.E. Door R.U.E. Fireplace with fire L. Table with drawing materials L.C. Easy chair R.C. Small work table R., with lady's work basket containing wool, a key, &c. Couch L.C.
(As the curtain rises, Madame des Aubiers discovered seated in an armchair R., with Berlin wool work in her hands; Blanche is seated on a stool at Madame des Aubiers' feet. At the back, Lucien is seated on the sofa L., with a book in his hand, which he pretends to read, though really furtively watching Mathilde, who is at the table L.C., drawing in an album. The three ladies are in deep mourning. After the curtain rises, there is a momentary silence. Madame des Aubiers sighs, and lets her embroidery fall from her hands. Blanche turns round and looks at her mother sadly, then rises, wipes away the tears from Madame des Aubiers' eyes, and kisses her. Blanche takes a step towards Lucien, who rises.)
Blanche (glancing out at the window).—The storm seems to have cleared away, and the sun is shining. But what a fearful night it was! The wind blew dreadfully. To think of the poor fishermen who went out to sea yesterday morning!
Lucien.—The hurricane was so violent that the great elm in front of Widow Gervaise's cottage, on the beach, was blown down.
"'Oh, how like him!'"
Blanche (aside to Lucien).—Hush! Don't mention the name of Gervaise in mamma's hearing. She has lost her son, too. He was a sailor, and it is now more than a year since Gervaise had any tidings of him.
Lucien (aside to Blanche).—Indeed? I did not know the widow had any children.
Blanche (as before).—Yes, an only son—a fine young fellow, who is supposed to have been lost at sea. We never mention ​Gervaise's name now; it always makes mamma cry since—you know——(weeps).
Lucien.—My poor dear friend. So full of life and gaiety, here, a few short months ago, and now gone for ever. (Turns away and throws himself on the sofa L.)
(While Lucien has been speaking, Blanche has approached Mathilde, and now looks over her shoulder.)
Blanche.—Oh! how like him. The same smile, the same proud air. My poor, poor brother! Then you still love him, Mathilde?
Mathilde.—Love him! Can you ask me? (Looks at Blanche steadfastly.) When you are sad, dear, your eyes are the image of Adrien's (kisses her). But for this dreadful war, we should have been happily married now (weeps).
Blanche (aside, stealing a glance at Lucien).—He does not take his eyes from her!
Madame des Aubiers
Noel (in a low voice).—Mamzelle Blanche.
Blanche (going toward him).—What is it, Noel?
Noel.—Monsieur Durand has come about the old wall that has fallen down at the back of the garden. He wishes to speak to Madame.
Blanche.—Very well (she takes a step toward MADAME and then returns to Noel). Has he brought the plan for the new stables I asked him to prepare?
Noel (in a low voice).—Yes, Mamzelle. He says it will be a very easy matter. Try to obtain your mamma's consent, and then you can persuade her afterwards to go out and see how the masons and carpenters get on with their work. In that way Madame will breathe a little fresh air and walk about a bit. It will be that much gained, at any rate.
Madame (shaking off her reverie).—Is that you, Noel?
Noel.—Yes, Madame. I was just speaking to Mamzelle Blanche. I hope I have not disturbed Madame?
Madame.—No. What is it, Noel?
Blanche (turning towards Madame).—Mamma, Noel here insists upon the absolute necessity—eh, Noel?
Noel.—Oh yes, Mamzelle Blanche.
Blanche.—The absolute necessity of your speaking in person to Monsieur Durand, about the new stables it was decided to build six months ago, before my poor brother—that is, when Adrien was with us. I have told him over and over again that you have quite abandoned the idea, that you don't wish to be troubled with any such affair. But Noel is so obstinate, you know, mamma, he won't listen to me at all. He says Monsieur Durand has prepared all the plans according to my brother's own directions—eh, Noel?
Noel.—Yes, Mamzelle Blanche. (Aside) She's an artful one, the dear child!
Blanche.—And has now come to show them to you. Besides, Noel says the work will cost a mere nothing.
Noel (comes down C.)—Nothing, Madame—or next to it, at least.
Madame.—Noel, go say to Monsieur Durand that I will join him in the garden.
(Exit Noel, C.)
(To Blanche) Come, dear.
(Exeunt MADAME and Blanche, C.)
Lucien (rises and closes the door).—Alone with her at last.
(He approaches Mathilde, who suddenly rises and stand motionless.)
Oh, listen to me, I implore you, if only for one moment. I am about to return to Bordeaux, and shall see your father. Let me tell him that you will soon return home.
Mathilde (coldly).—I have already told you that it is my intention to remain here.
Lucien.—But your parents—your family.
Mathilde. My family is that of the man who was to have been my husband.
Lucien.—I respect your sentiment in coming here; but it is now five months since Adrien fell at Gravelotte, and—
Mathilde—Well, sir, if I were his widow, it would be my right and my duty to mourn for him all my life. To think that he is dead—dead!
(She leans her elbows on the table, buries her face in her hands, and weeps.)
Lucien.—Why, then, did he not resign when this war broke out? Why did he leave you if he loved you?
Mathilde.—He was a true Frenchman, sir, and a soldier.
Lucien.—During the long years of his military studies in Paris, you never met him, or thought of him, save as a childish playmate. I loved you even then, and you were not angry with me.
Mathilde (scornfully).—No—I laughed at you.
Lucien.—Pitiless girl! ​Mathilde.―You desire to console me. Do you not feel, what bitterness there is for me in the very thought that you presume to hope?
"A feather dusting-brush in his hand."
Lucien (supplicating).―Mathilde !
Mathilde.―Do not approach me, sir. I detest and despise you.
(She pushes open door C., and goes out hurriedly. Noel is discovered with a feather dusting-brush in his hand.)
Lucien.―Mathilde, pity me! (Comes down R.) Must I, then, abandon her to this terrible despair that is killing her?
(Enter Noel, C. He puts down his brush on the sofa L., and closes the door.)
Noel.―What is the matter? Why do you torment the poor young lady?
Lucien.―I wish to console her.
Noel.―But she won't be consoled. Excuse me, Monsieur Lucien, but you have no right to fall in love with Mamzelle Mathilde.
Lucien.―You are right, Noel, and I must try to forget her. (Rises.)
Noel.―Besides, there are lots of other pretty girls in the world. What's the use of hanging on after one who doesn't care about you?
Lucien.―Yes, I will leave here to-night.
Noel (dissatisfied).―Leave here! What for?
Lucien.―She hates the sight of me.
Noel.―Well, there are others who don't.
Lucien.―What do you mean?
Noel.―I mean that there are people to whom the sight of you is extremely agreeable. To me, for example; and to Madame; and to Mamzelle Blanche, too. Ah! she'll be a treasure for somebody!
Lucien.―Yes, she will be a very handsome woman―
Noel.―Will be! (Aside.) I wonder what his notion of a pretty woman is?
Lucien.―She is very amiable and sensible, too.
Noel.―That she is, and well educated, and such a lively disposition when there's no sorrow on her heart, poor thing. Ah! if somebody should endeavour to console her, I don't think he'd get the sack. (A pause―aside.) The great booby doesn't understand.
Lucien (up stage).―Noel, I shall be in Bordeaux to-morrow.
Noel.―What! You leave me, then, to look after three women in despair?
Lucien.―If anything serious should happen, send for me at once. Old friendship almost makes me one of the family.
Noel.―There are several ways of being one of the family.
Lucien (coming down).―Yes, close association, time-honoured intimacy―
Noel (aside). What a stupid dolt!
Lucien.―Adrien treated me always as a brother, and I will be a son to his mother.
Noel.―Just what I most desire.
Lucien.―Now I must go get ready to leave this evening.
(Exit C.)
Noel.―Poor fellow; it's not his fault if he doesn't see that our little Blanche is in love with him, though, I must confess, I do wonder at it myself. But then, women are such a funny lot; luckily, I never troubled my head about any of them.
(Enter Blanche, C., with handkerchief to her eyes.)
Ah! here she comes―and crying again, of course. What is the matter now, Mamzelle Blanche? You promised me not to cry any more. (He closes door C.)
{sc|Blanche}}.―I can't help it. Do you remember that lovely tea rose, that my poor brother planted last summer? Well, it is ​in full bloom, all of a sudden like, and he not here to—to—(sobbing)—have one in—in—(sobs)—his buttonhole. (Sits in chair L., at table.)
"I'm blubbering myself now."
Noel (angry).—What childishness! (He sits down beside her, produces a large bandana handkerchief and wipes her eyes.) There (soothing), don't cry any more. Why, bless you, that kind of thing happens every day almost. Somebody you love plants a rosebush, and by and by, when the person who—planted it (faltering) has gone away—it blossoms, maybe—and you pluck a rose—anybody might pluck a rose, you know—it's not a thing to cry about. (Breaks down and cries.) Nonsense! I'm blubbering myself, now. Come, come, Mamzelle Blanche. Take heart—do try. Remember that another terrible disaster threatens us; your mother's health is failing, and I fear if something is not done, grief will kill her.
Blanche.—Oh, Noel! But what can I do?
Noel.—Why, in the first place, you must try to set her a cheerful example.
Blanche.—Well, so I do try. But I can't. (Sobs.) The tears will come and choke me. I do my best to gulp them down, but they won't stay down.
Noel.—Well, now, dry your eyes and go back to your mamma. Try to smile and invent something pleasant to tell her. For instance, just suppose that a nice young man comes all of a sudden to ask your hand in marriage.
Blanche.—A nice young man, did you say?
Noel.—Oh, I didn't refer to Master Lucien.
Blanche (joyous). Monsieur Lucien. Oh, how delightful that is—no, I don't mean that.
Noel.—Never mind your meaning. The smile—the old smile we all loved so well has come back, and I am happy. So will your mamma be, when she sees it, and that is far more important.
Blanche.—Oh, Noel, Noel! You are so good, so kind. You try to give us all fresh courage, and to cheer us up, and I love you dearly—indeed I do. Then you are so tender in taking care of poor dear mamma, and so patient. Oh, I don't say anything, but I see it all, and will never forget it—never. (Noel weeps.) There, now, Mr. Growler, who's crying now, I'd like to know?
Noel.—What do you talk to me in that way for, if I'm not to make an old fool of myself?
Blanche.—I only said you were good and true, did I? I might have added that you are very clever, too—yes, and sly.
Noel.—I?
Blanche.—And in spite of your stupid looks—
Noel.—Have I a stupid look, then?
Blanche.—You fathom mysterious secrets, that nobody knows anything about. You read people's thoughts.
Noel.—Whose thoughts?
Blanche.—If you can't guess, I shall not say another word.
Noel.—But then, I'm so stupid you know—
Blanche.—Oh, not always.
​ "Hush!" Noel.—Well, then, tell me—
Blanche.—No. Remember, you said I must go back to mamma. So good-bye. (Pauses, and then returns, whispers.) Of course, you have not mentioned this to anyone?
Noel.—(pretending ignorance, whispers).—Mentioned what?
Blanche.—(whispers).—Hush! Your discovery.
Noel.—Shh! No.
Blanche.—And of course you won't? Mamma mustn't know it, for the world. It would make her still sadder. And then, on the other hand, Noel, think of my dignity.
Noel.—And, again, I may be mistaken.
Blanche.—(quickly).-But you're not.
Noel.—(the same).—Then you confess it, do you?
Blanche.—I confess nothing. Good-bye, Noel!
(Exit C., the door closing behind her.)
Noel.—(alone).—Ah! that's the girl for me! There is some life in her, and no sentimental humbug. (He throws open the window L.) What do I care for women that talk poetry and politics, and write books, and have a notion that they ought to have been born men? Not that! (Snaps his fingers.) Now, there's Mamzelle Mathilde (he pushes the table back L.C.) they all make so much fuss and wonder about; she's entirely beyond me. I don't understand her. I suppose it's because she's a genius. (Places an arm-chair at R. 1st E.) As a rule, I think young women—and old women, too—have no business to be geniuses; and if any makes me forgive Mamzelle de Pierreval, here, for being so vastly clever, it is that she has drawn such a life-like picture of my dear boy, although I must say she has given him a serious, solemn look he never had—I mean, a solemn look he hasn't, for they may all say what they like, I can't bring myself to believe he is dead. It's no use showing me his uniform all stained with blood and pierced with bullet-holes, or the letters and papers found in his pockets—I say still, that proves just nothing at all. (He turns over the sofa cushions.) When I think of all his miraculous escapes as a child, I cannot believe that Providence would abandon him even on the battle-field. One day—I remember he wasn't more than five years old—we were having a game of touch in this very room, and, in running away from me, what must he do but get over the balcony outside that window. (Points.) I was almost wild with terror, for I thought, of course, he was killed—poor little fellow! I rushed to the balcony, looked over with a shudder, and what did I see? There was my young scapegrace, with his little frock caught in one of the iron supports of the window, and holding on with his tiny hands to the balcony railings. "You won't catch me, Noel," he says, merrily; "it wouldn't be fair play, you know." And now they want me to believe that the pitiless invaders of our unhappy France have destroyed his young life. Never! The thing is not possible, and my mind's perfectly easy. The ladies may mourn for him, but I won't. I expect him home, I may say, every day.
(The door c. is opened, and Adrien appears in uniform. He stops to listen.)
If he should come this very minute it wouldn't surprise me a bit. I can almost hear his merry voice exclaiming, as he used to when he came home from a day's shooting or fishing, "Now, then, Noel, let's have a bit of lunch; I'm almost famished."
Adrien.—Now, then, Noel, let's have a of lunch; I'm almost famished! (He tosses his cap on the table L.C., and comes down C.)
Noel.—(staggering).—Good heavens!
Adrien.—Why, what's the matter, Noel? Why do you look so strangely at ​me? Did you not expect me, then? (Noel staggers and falls into Adrien's arms). Why, Noel! Noel! Don't you know me? It is I, Adrien.
"Why do you look so strangely at me?"
Noel (sobbing, and then recovering slowly).—Oh, my dear, dear boy! I am so happy. (Clasps Adrien in his arms.)
Adrien (after a pause)—But, Noel, I don't understand all this. Did you not receive my letter?
Noel.—No; nothing has come.
Adrien.—It must have miscarried then. And my other letters from Germany? I wrote to you, last month, that I had recovered from my wounds.
Noel.—There! What did I say? So you were not killed, after all?
Adrien.—Killed! Do I look as if I had been killed? But, Noel, my mother?
Noel.—The poor lady believes you dead.
Adrien.—Dead?
Noel.—Yes, killed by the enemy. Good gracious, how are we to tell her of your safety?
Adrien.—My poor dear mother. How I long to embrace her!
Noel.—You frighten me at the bare idea. If she saw you now, she would fall dead on the spot.
Adrien.—It was to avoid all this difficulty that I wrote to you from Brussels, where I made my way after escaping from Germany.
Noel.—Hush! I hear her footstep on the stairs.
Adrien.—My mother?
Noel (listening).—Yes; she has stopped to rest a moment. What's to be done? Ah! let's fasten the door. No, that would excite her suspicions Here! help me to push the sofa against the door.
(They push sofa against door C. Noel kneels on the sofa.)
Madame (outside, and trying to open the door).—Noel!
Adrien.—Her voice! My dear, dear mother!
Madame (outside, calling).—Noel!
Noel (aside).—I must answer. (Aloud) I thought you were gone for a walk, Madame, so I took advantage to dust the drawing-room a bit. Shall I move the sofa back and let you in? There's an awful cloud of dust here!
Madame.—Never mind, then. I only came for my volume of "Lamartine," you will find it on the table. Give it me.
Adrien (aside—taking book from table L.C.). One of my own books. (Kisses it.)
Noel.—Yes, Madame.
(He remains on the sofa, and makes signs to Adrien, who tremblingly passes the book to Madame through the door ajar, in spite of Noel's indignant by-play.)
Is that it, Madame ?
Madame (outside).—Yes, thanks.
(Noel peeps cautiously through the door to see that she has gone, and then falls on the sofa.)
Noel.—Phew! I'm all in a cold perspiration (sits).
Adrien (at window).—How pale, how changed she is!
Noel (pulling him away).—I'm changed, too. My hair has all turned grey—what there is of it.
Adrien.—And I cannot clasp her in my arms.
(Turns towards the window and holds out his arms.)
​Noel (interposing).—For the present, just clasp me in your arms, if that'll do you any good. (Adrien hugs him.) Hush! someone is coming again. This time I'll lock the door. (Locks door C.)
Blanche (knocking outside C.).—Noel!
Noel (aside to Adrien).—It's your sister.
Adrien.—Dear little Blanche.
Blanche (outside).—Noel!
Noel.—Pooh, pooh! What should we fear? I'll just prepare her for an agreeable surprise. Go hide behind the curtain there. (Adrien conceals himself.)
Blanche (outside).—What are you muttering to yourself about? Do open the door.
Noel.—Yes, Mamzelle Blanche.
(He draws aside the sofa, and unlocks the door. He then commences dusting the chairs, humming a tune in a low voice.)
Blanche (entering C.).—Why did you lock yourself in, Noel?
Noel.—Why, so that the dust shouldn't get out.
Blanche.—A new idea of yours, I must admit.
Noel (aside).—What nonsense I do talk. (Aloud) To keep the dust in, I mean.
Blanche.—Don't be absurd. Mamma has gone for a stroll, with Mathilde. Poor mamma does look so ill.
Noel.—Oh, very ill, Mamzelle Blanche—very ill, indeed. (Hums a tune.)
Blanche.—Why, Noel, what has happened to you?
Noel.—Me? Nothing. (Hums.)
Blanche.—I speak to you about poor mamma, and you actually commence singing. I never heard the like before. It's not natural. Something has happened, I'm sure.
Noel.—I do look rather queer, don't I? Well, mamzelle, if the truth must be told, I do feel a little flustered. I've just received a piece of extraordinary news, that's all.
Blanche.—Good news?
Noel.—Excellent.
Blanche.—For me?
Noel.—Yes, and for me, too. For all of us.
Blanche.—Oh, Noel, what is it?
Noel.—Guess.
Blanche.—About Adrien ?
Noel.—You commence to burn.
Blanche.—He has been heard from?
Noel.—Now you are scorching.
Blanche.—Oh, my dear, dear brother! There, tell me all, that's a dear Noel. You needn't be a bit afraid. I can stand it. I've got such a head, you know.
Noel.—Without any fainting or nonsense?
Blanche.—I faint? Did you ever see me faint?
Noel.—NOEL. I never did—that's true. Well, then, mamzelle—
Blanche.—He's here—alive?
Noel.—He is—and safe and well.
Blanche.—Oh! what joy for mamma. (Calling) Adrien! Adrien! Where are you?
Adrien (comes out).—Not dead, little sister, but dying—to kiss you.
Blanche.—You may. I don't believe you are a ghost.
(Adrien runs and lifts her in his arms.)
Adrien (kisses her).—My own darling little Blanche! (Looks at her.) Why, how pretty the minx has grown. (Kisses her.)
Blanche.—Oh! mamma will be so happy, and so will our poor Mathilde, and all of us.
Noel.—To begin, then, Master Adrien, you must be concealed somewhere, at once. (To Blanche) If we only had the key of his room.
"Here it is."
Blanche.—Mamma always keeps it in her own possession. Stop! Here is her work-basket. The key may be in it. (Rummages in basket.) And here it is.
​(Shows key.) How lucky! isn't it? (She runs to door R.U.E., and opens it with key.) Now, sir, walk into prison, if you please.
Adrien (at the door R.).—My own little oom! and in such perfect order. My books, my maps—everything in its place.
Noel.—Just as it didn't use to be.
Adrien (to Blanche).—Do you hear this spiteful old Noel? Why, I do believe he has had my geometrical drawings all framed and hung around the walls.
Blanche (pretends to look in).—Dear me! So he has! Go and admire them. (she pushes Adrien in and locks door R.U.E.)
Adrien (outside).—You don't mean to say I'm to be locked in?
Blanche.—Make haste to get him some luncheon, Noel, that's a duck! Oh, what fun we shall have! And how jolly it is not to cry any more, and not to wear this horrid black dress. I shall put on my tarletan dress this very evening, and wear those tea roses in my hair. I could almost dance for joy. Tra-la-la! (dances)
Noel.—Mamzelle Blanche, you shouldn't dance about in that way. Suppose Madame were to come in now!
Blanche.—Oh, there's no danger. And if I didn't do something I should explode; I'm sure I should. To think he is there, and so handsome, too!
Noel.—That he is. Almost as handsome as Master Lucien, isn't he?
Blanche.—Noel, it's very spiteful of you to tease me. You're a wicked old man.
Noel.—I'm so happy, I can't help teasing you a bit. It's my way of dancing, you know. But now we must be serious, and devise some means of breaking this glorious news to your mamma.
Blanche.—Oh, I don't give the matter a thought. All I fear is that I shall not look miserable enough; I couldn't do it.
Noel.—You certainly haven't a very sorry appearance just now.
Blanche.—And you look as happy as a bridegroom.
Noel.—A nice pair we are.
Blanche.—Your eyes alone are sure to betray us. You don't know how they shine.
Noel.—Do they, though? Then I'll keep winking, so that it shan't be noticed. (Crosses to window L.) Ah! there they come, across the lawn. (Going) Remember, Mamzelle Blanche, this is the dangerous moment.
Blanche.—You don't mean to leave me alone with her?
Noel.—But I do, though. I could never conceal my feelings. It takes a woman to dissimulate, you know.
(Exit C.)
Blanche (alone).—Noel ! Come back, you silly old man! Poor mamma! What if I throw my arms around her neck, and tell her the happy truth at once ? No, no: that would never do. It would kill her.
(Enter Madame des Aubiers, C. She goes to the easy-chair R, without seeing Blanche, throws her bonnet on table R.)
(Approaching) Are you any better, mamma? I fear you have walked too far, and have fatigued yourself.
(She goes softly around her mother's chair, puts her arm round her neck, and kisses her.)
Madame.—Your stroll on the beach this morning did you good, dear. I can almost fancy I see you smile. (Looks at her steadfastly.) I don't know why, but it seems to me you have a strange expression of the eyes.
Blanche (confused).—I, mamma?
Madame.—Yes, dear. They appear brighter than usual, as if some pleasure had happened to you.
Blanche.—Dear mamma, how well you guess everything!
Madame.—Ah! what has occurred, then?
Blanche (aside).—Oh, such an idea! I will risk it, at all hazards. It may pave the way, and can do no harm, I'm sure.
Madame.—Sit down here, love, and tell me what has given you pleasure.
Blanche (sitting on the stool at Madame's feet). Well, mamma, I am both pleased and vexed.
Madame.—At what?
Blanche.—Why, to think that such great joy can fall to the lot of people who don't deserve it, whilst you, dear mamma, so gentle, so good, are plunged in sorrow.
Madame.—Alas, my child! it is the will of Providence, and we have no right to envy the happiness of others. But to whom do you allude?
Blanche.—Why, to that unfeeling creature, Widow Gervaise, who forced her son to go to sea two years ago, to prevent him from marrying the girl of his choice, just because she was poor.
Madame (anxiously)—Well, dear, well?
Blanche.—You know, mamma, the young man was supposed to have perished in the Amphitrite.
​Madame.—Supposed to have perished? He did perish.
Blanche.—Oh no, mamma; he was saved, and has arrived in England in a merchant vessel from China. His mother heard from him to-day, and expects him home next week.
Madame.—Good Heavens! Can such joy be possible? (Falls back in the chair.) And what has she done to deserve such a blessing?
Blanche.—Well, then, mamma, it may be a silly idea of mine, but why should not we, too, indulge a hope that——?
Madame.—Alas! For us, there is no room for hope, my child-none, none! I have the official assurance of the Government that he is dead. My poor lost boy (Weeps.)
"But perhaps the Government is wrong."
Blanche (rising).—Yes, mamma, but perhaps the Government is wrong. It wouldn't be the first time the Government has been wrong, and other Governments too!
(Madame rises.)
Are you going, mamma?
Madame (agitated).—Yes, love, to Mathilde's room. (Goes to door C., then pauses and comes down C.) Did you say the young man had reached England?
Blanche.—Yes, mamma, and may be here any day.
Madame.—What happiness for Gervaise. Her son! her boy! How she must count, one by one, the weary moments. (Quickly) Blanche, I will be back presently.
(Snatches her bonnet from table R. Exit C.)
Blanche (alone).—The ice is broken at last. The idea will now take root in her mind that a mother may recover her son, even if the Government says he is dead.
(Enter Noel C., with a basket.)
Noel, You keep watch outside, while I take the prisoner his bread and water. (Takes key from Blanche. Enters room R.U.E.).
Blanche.—We must manage Mathilde next. She's certain to have a nervous fit of some sort.
(Re-enter Noel R.U.E.)
Noel (alarmed).—He's gone!
Blanche.—Gone? I thought I locked the door.
Noel.—Yes, but not the window. And I'll lay any money he has caught a glimpse of Mamzelle Mathilde.
Blanche.—The poor fellow is in love, you know.
Noel.—In love! and a nice business it is, to be in love.
(Adrien appears on window sill L.)
Adrien.—Love laughs at locksmiths—remember that.
Blanche.—So there you are, traitor! Come here, sir, directly.
Noel.—Someone is coming. Quick. (Adrien jumps on L.)
Adrien.—If I must, I suppose I must.
(Blanche pushes Adrien into room R.U.E., and hastily locks the door. At the same moment enter Lucien C.)
Blanche (aside).—Just in time. (Turns round.) It's not mamma, after all.
Noel (aside).—I breathe again.
Lucien.—Am I intruding? I beg pardon—I——
Blanche.—Oh, not at all. We thought it was mamma——
Noel.—And felt a little flustered.
Lucien (surprised).—Why, what has happened?
Blanche (to Lucien).—A great joy has been granted to us.
Lucien.—Indeed?
​Blanche.—And we know you will share our happiness—you, who loved him so dearly.
Lucien.—What! Adrien!
Blanche.—Is alive and well. Safe locked in his own room, there.
Lucien.—Oh! thank Heaven!
Noel (aside).—His heart is in the right place, after all!
Lucien.—Blanche, you are a noble girl, and deserve this happiness. I must leave you immediately.
Blanche.—But you are not going—I shall not let you go—you must stay and help us to break the joyful news to poor, dear mamma. Hark! She is coming.
Lucien.—But, Blanche——
Blanche.—Stay—I entreat you.
(Enter Madame, hastily C. She stops and looks at Lucien and Blanche, who remain motionless.)
Madame (R., aside).—What can be the meaning of this? Why has she deceived me? Blanche—who was always truth itself? It cannot be that there is hope—no, no—I am mad—it is impossible! (Aloud) No}, leave us.
Noel (aside).—That's lucky for me.
Exit C.
Blanche (aside to Lucien).—See how excited she is. We must be very, very prudent.
Madame (to Blanche).—Who told you that story, Blanche? About Gervaise?
Blanche.—Mamma, it was Noe, who heard it from a peasant.
Madame.—And did he give no details? Was Gervaise particularly mentioned?
Blanche.—Not by name.
Madame (starting).—Ah!
Lucien (aside to Blanche).—Take care.
Blanche.—I only know that, according to what he heard, Noel thought it must be Gervaise's son.
Madame.—Alas, no!
Lucien (to Madame).—I shall be in Bordeaux to-morrow, and will make some inquiries, if you wish it.
Madame (quickly).—What? Are you going, Lucien? (Aside) How downcast he looks!
Lucien.—I am called away by important business, and must return to Bordeaux this evening.
(Kisses her hand, bows to Blanche, exit C. Blanche seats herself on the sofa L.)
Madame (sits R. Aside).—How embarrassed he seemed. Oh, I must know the truth. This suspense will drive me mad. (Rummages in work basket R.) Where is the key? (To Blanche.) Blanche, have you seen the key to your brother's room?
Blanche (embarrassed).—The key, mamma? Why, you always keep it yourself, you know. Indeed, it wasn't I, I assure you, mamma.
Madame.—Why do you excuse yourself, my child?
Blanche.—Because—because—I thought——
Madame (aside).—She has taken it. (Aloud) That key must be found at once, dear. Go, ask Noel if he has it. Stay! (Aside) She would put him on his guard. (Crosses to L., calls Noel.) Noel!
(Noel appears at C., Blanche going out at the same moment.)
Blanche (aside to Noel).—It's your turn now, sir. Be prudent.
(Exit C.)
Madame.—Close the door, Noel. Well, Noel, we have news of Adrien. (Crosses back to R.)
Noel (stupefied).—Oh, Madame, who told you that?
Madame.—Blanche.
Noel.—Well, yes, we have heard something. (Madame staggers, Noel assists her to a seat in the armchair R.) And if you were not nervous, you know——
Madame.—Oh, Noel—see how calm I am!
Noel.—Yes, very calm indeed! The first word I say, away you go, as if——
Madame.—Oh, Noel, for pity's sake.
Noel (with feigned readiness).—Then, I see I can tell you all about it!
Madame (eagerly).—Do, do, Noel—my old, my faithful friend—tell me the whole truth. I can bear it, indeed I can.
Noel.—Well, then, Madame, it seems a traveller reached Bordeaux yesterday, and this traveller just casually mentioned that in his travels he had met a young traveller who was travelling in the same direction, and whose name was Adrien des Aubiers. Then someone who knew Master Adrien said to him—the traveller, I mean—that his story couldn't be true, for Master Adrien had been killed by the enemy. "Oh no," said the traveller, "that couldn't be, for I left him alive and well, only a fortnight ago."
Madame (with joyful eagerness).—Where?
Noel (puzzled).—Where?
Madame.—Yes—where?
​Noel (aside).—I wish I could think of the name of some country.
Madame (impatiently).—Where—where was my poor boy seen?
Noel (desperately).—In—in Australia—
Madame (rising and crossing L.).—In Australia two weeks ago—absurd!
Noel.—Well, but, Madame, how can I help it? You scold me—frighten me—
Madame.—Oh! you are killing me—killing me! (falling on a chair R.) Go, go! Leave me!
Noel (aside). I don't seem to make much headway. I'll call the others.
(Goes to window L.C. and makes motions outside.)
Madame (rising, to herself).—Oh, if this last hope were to die! No—the news, whatever it is, is sure.
(Enter Mathilde C.)
Ah! she has changed the ribbon in her hair. (Goes towards Mathilde.) (Aloud) Mathilde!
(Enter Blanche and Lucien C.)
Let me look at you! Ah! Those eyes have met Adrien's—he is here.
Blanche.—Be calm, I implore you.
Madame.—Yes; I divine it all. You have both seen him.
Blanche.—Well, then, mamma, we have seen him; but you can only embrace him to-morrow.
Madame.—Ah, my son! my boy! (They try to calm her.) No, no, I'll not listen. (Calls) Adrien!
(Adrien bursts open the door R.U.E., takes a step forward, then stops. Madame des Aubiers screams, and falls into the arms of Noel and Mathilde.)
Adrien.—Oh Heaven, she is dead!
Madame (recovering).—Ah!
(Adrien rushes toward Madame. She pauses a moment, and then wildly seizes his head between her hands, kissing him passionately.)
Thank God! Thank God!
(Blanche approaches. Adrien rises, and Madame clasps them both in her arms.)
Noel (blubbering).—This is too much for me. Now it's all over—I—I—(he falls on the ottoman.)
Blanche (goes to him).—Good gracious! I do believe the silly old noodle is going to faint.
Noel (recovering).—No, no, Mamzelle Blanche. (Rising) The fact is, I hardly know what to do—I'm so happy.
Madame.—Ah, Noel, the night has passed, and the glorious morning breaks again. Even to the hopeless and the desolate, behind the darkest clouds there is a silver lining.
CURTAIN.