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BRIGADIER (to MACAIRE). You seem to be a gentleman of considerable intelli
MACAIRE. I fear, sir, you flatter.
One has lived, one has loved, and one remembers: that is all. One's Lives of Celebrated Criminals have met with a certain success, and one is ever in quest of fresh material.
DUMONT. By the way, a singular thing about my patent key.
personally known to you?
BRIGADIER. Are you connected with justice?
MACAIRE. Ah, sir, justice is a point above a poor author.
This Macaire is not
MACAIRE. My dear sir, my friend and I, I regret to say, have an appointment in Lyons, or I could spend my life in this society. Charge your glasses: one hour to madness and to joy! What is to-morrow? the enemy of to-day? Wine? the bath of life. One moment: I find I have forgotten my watch. (He makes for the door.)
MACAIRE. Sir, what is this jest?
BRIGADIER. Sentry at the door. Your passports.
MACAIRE. My good man, with all the pleasure in life. (Gives papers. The BRIGADIER puts on spectacles, and examines them.)
BERTRAND (rising, and passing round to MACAIRE'S other side). It's life and death they must soon find it.
MACAIRE (aside). Don't I know? My heart's like fire in my body.
BRIGADIER. Your name is?
MACAIRE. It is; one's name is not unknown.
BRIGADIER. Justice exacts your name.
MACAIRE. Henri-Frédéric de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de Brest
BRIGADIER. Your profession?
BRIGADIER. No, but what is your trade?
MACAIRE. I am an analytical chymist.
BRIGADIER. Justice is inscrutable. Your papers are in order. (To BERTRAND.) Now, sir, and yours?
BERTRAND. I feel kind of ill.
MACAIRE. Bertrand, this gentleman addresses you. He is not one of us in other scenes, in the gay and giddy world of fashion, one is his superior. But to-day he represents the majesty of law; and as a citizen it is one's pride to do him honour. BRIGADIER. Those are my sentiments.
BRIGADIER. What? In your passport it is written Bertrand.
BERTRAND. It's this way: I was born Bertrand, and then I took the name of
Napoleon, and I mostly always call myself either Napoleon or Bertrand.
BERTRAND. I am an orphan
BRIGADIER. What the devil! (To MACAIRE.) Is your friend an idiot?
MACAIRE. Pardon me, he is a poet.
BRIGADIER. Poetry is a great hindrance to the ends of justice. Well, take your
To these, CHARLES, who is seen on the gallery, going to the door of Number Thirteen. Afterwards all the characters but the NOTARY and the MARQUIS.
BRIGADIER One glass more.
(BERTRAND touches MACAIRE, and points to
CHARLES, who enters Number Thirteen.)
MACAIRE. No more, no more, no more.
BRIGADIER (rising and taking MACAIRE by the arm). I stipulate !
MACAIRE. Engagement in Turin !
BRIGADIER. Turin ?
MACAIRE. Lyons, Lyons!
BERTRAND. For God's sake.
BRIGADIER. Well, good-bye!
MACAIRE. Good-bye, good
CHARLES from within). Murder! Help! (Appearing.) Help here! The Marquis is murdered.
BRIGADIER. Stand to the door. A man up there. (A GENDARME hurries up staircase into Number Thirteen, CHARLES following him. Enter on both sides of gallery the remaining characters of the piece, except the NOTARY and the MARQUIS.) MACAIRE. Bitten, by God!
BRIGADIER (to DUMONT). John Paul Dumont, I arrest you.
DUMONT. Do your duty, officer.
I can answer for myself and my own people.
BRIGADIER. Yes, but these strangers?
MACAIRE. I am an honest man: I stand upon my rights: search me; or search person, of whom I know too little. (Smiting his brow.) By heaven, I see it all. This morning- (To BERTRAND). How, sir, did you dare to flaunt your booty in my very face? (To BRIGADIER.) He showed me notes; he was up ere day; search him, and you'll find. There stands the murderer.
BERTRAND. O Macaire! (He is seized and searched, and the notes are found.)
towards the door.)
BERTRAND. Macaire, you may as well take the bundle. (MACAIRE is stopped by sentry, and comes front, R.)
CHARLES (re-appearing). Stop, I know the truth. my father is not dead, he is not even dangerously hurt. the would-be assassin.
(He comes down.) Brigadier,
He has spoken.
MACAIRE. Hell! (He darts across to the staircase, and turns on the second step, flashing out the knife. Back, hounds! (He springs up the stair, and confronts them from the top.) Fools, I am Robert Macaire! (As MACAIRE turns to flee, he is met by the gendarme coming out of Number Thirteen; he stands an instant checked, is shot from the stage, and falls headlong backward down the stair. BERTRAND, with a cry, breaks from the gendarmes, kneels at his side, and raises his head.)
BERTRAND. Macaire, Macaire, forgive me. I didn't blab; you know I didn't
MACAIRE. Sold again, old boy. side death. Death, what is death?
Sold for the last time; at least, the last time this (He dies.)
[All Rights Reserved. Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington.]