Conserve your mysteries, poet; they will have no heirs.
Death is the heir of everything impenetrable.
But only during life do the words of the sphinx Possess a meaning for our ears.
Coward! The sun blinds him who cannot hearken to the sphinx.
It does, and I feel sure My lover must be waiting. Will you come with me?
No, thanks. I shall remain and think of what has died.
May you have the protection of my defunct illusion.
BY GEORGE ANCEY TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY BARRETT H. CLARK.
LAMBLIN. MARTHE. MADAME BAIL. MADAME COGÉ. SERVANT.
First published in the _Stratford Journal_, March, 1917. Reprinted by permission of Mr. Barrett H. Clark.
Translated from the French by Barrett H. Clark.
[_A stylish drawing-room. There are doors at the back, and on each side. Down-stage to the right is a window; near it, but protected by a screen, is a large arm-chair near a sewing-table. Down-stage opposite is a fire-place, on each side of which, facing it, are a sofa and another large arm-chair; next the sofa is a small table, and next to it, in turn, a stool and two chairs. This part of the stage should be so arranged as to make a little cozy-corner. The set is completed by various and sundry lamps, vases with flowers, and the like._
_As the curtain rises, the servant enters to Lamblin, Marthe and Madame Bail, bringing coffee and cigarettes, which he lays on the small table._]
LAMBLIN [_settling comfortably into his chair_]. Ah, how comfortable it is! Mm--! [_To Marthe._] Serve us our coffee, my child, serve us our coffee.
LAMBLIN [_aside_]. Always something going round and round in that little head of hers! Needn't worry about it--nothing serious.--Well, Mother-in-law, what do you say to the laces, eh?
MADAME BAIL. Delicious! It must have cost a small fortune! You have twenty yards there!
LAMBLIN. Five thousand francs! Five thousand francs! [_To Marthe._] Yes, madame, your husband was particularly generous. He insists upon making his wife the most beautiful of women and giving her everything her heart desires. Has he succeeded?
MARTHE. Thank you. I've really never seen such lovely malines. Madame Pertuis ordered some lately and they're not nearly so beautiful as these.
LAMBLIN. I'm glad to hear it. Well, aren't you going to kiss your husband--for his trouble? [_She kisses him._] Good! There, now.