A RASCALLY VALET.

A room in a hotel. Tables and chairs are covered with portmanteaus, carpet-bags, clothes, &c. On a table (L.) is an open jewel-case, (R.) a sofa; in the background a bed. Frans (Jonker Van Bergen’s man) is discovered half-reclining on the sofa, smoking a cigar.

Frans(sings).

“Mon maître est un filou,Et moi j’ n’ suis pas bête, la, la....”

“Mon maître est un filou,

Et moi j’ n’ suis pas bête, la, la....”

That was indeed a barbarous idea—leaving me at home. “Charité bien ordonnée commence par soi-même,” as we used to say at Paris. My gentleman’s gone out a-courting, and I may just sit and grumble in these confoundedlodgings! He hasn’t the smallest grain of feeling. Why couldn’t he remember that while he’s busy making love to his silly cousin, and flattering his cracked old aunt,—that is, making fools of both of them,—I might, in the meanwhile, very appropriately amuse myself with the maid!

Pretty little thing, that Sophie! Just a little bitbête, still—but that will come all right in time—I’ll educate her fast enough. We haven’t been to Paris for nothing. I had views on her already, when we were here eighteen months ago. She was then a mere child, and I had not yet seen Notre Dame and the Pont-Neuf. In point of fact, come to think of it, I was still very young, and notau faitabout life. I can clearly remember getting quite confused when the postman’s flaxen-haired daughter scolded me for ... come, Frans, let those things rest ... she’s at rest herself.... How could I help it, if the girl was so gone on me? Why didn’t her father take better care of her? What is a father for, if not to look after his daughter?

What a difference, when I think of those days! Confused! ashamed!—why, I don’t know the meaning of the words. The only thing I’m ashamed of now, is that I ever had thefaiblesseto be ashamed of anything. And now that, thanks to my education in theguinguettes, I have become quite ajeune homme accompli,—now that I might have begun a nice diversion with thesuivanteof my master’s intended, ... now I’m got rid off with a gruff, “Frans, stay and look after the room!”

He’ll talk in a different tune when he finds he needs me again to get him out of some scrape or other. Then it is, “Frans, dear Frans, save me; I don’t know what I’m to do!” Frans is good enough for that. But besides this,au fond, it’s unjust to leave me here indoors. A man is a man, and has reason and freewill. Jonker Van Bergen goes out courting. So we see that beings with reason and freewill do go courting. But I too am a man; I have freewilland reason—therefore I ought to go out courting too. That is clear and undeniable.

Glorious logic! Precious philosophy! Invaluable gift of Heaven, which is scattered with generous hand at Paris. Beloved nurse of all that ... that....

And with all that I’m sitting here indoors, like Job, on his ancient sofa. It is annoying; it’s very annoying! It’s the most annoying thing in the world! It could not possibly be worse; it’sennuyant,étouffant,embêtant!

[Jumps up angrily, and walks backwards and forwards, smoking.]

I’m curious to know whether he’ll get through with his business, and succeed better than last year. The devil grant he may! Otherwise it’s all up with him—all up—and he’s ruined! If he hasn’t made his lady-cousin his own, with all that belongs to her [goes through the gestures of counting money], within a month, he’s a dead man! Physically dead, financially dead, civilly dead,—dead in every possible way! Dead tochambertin,baronfayol, and champagne; dead to thebouillottetable;dead pour tout ce qui porte un jupon ... enfin—burst up!

This wouldn’t really matter so much if these gentlemen hadn’t the disagreeable habit of dragging down every one about them in their fall. [Makes a wry face.] The cheques! the cheques!

I am anything butà monaise, as we used to say at Paris. We have only a month before us. Before that time we must have money to pay up, or the whole thing will go smash. And then he’s quite capable of saying that it was I who forged the cheques. Then come examinations and cross-examinations, witnessesà chargeandà décharge; reply, duplicate, triplicate, or whatever they call it; and the end of it is that the President puts on the black cap—grim fashion that!—and has a sentence read out, in which poor Frans is very badly used on the score of ... complicity!

I might indeed get hold of a lawyer who has studied thecirconstances atténuantes, as we used to say at Paris; but what’s the good, when the stupid bench don’t understand them? Civilisation is at such a low ebb in this land of ours. Quite otherwise over there. I attended a trial in France ... a woman who had committed thesottiseof hacking her child to pieces, chopping it up small, and cooking it ... what further could you have? It would have been a bad look-out for her in this country. Over there, she simply had to take the precaution of providingcirconstances atténuantes, ... and she got off all right. That’s what I call philanthropy—civilisation! Just look for civilisationhere! there’s nothing of the sort. Everything is taken ill here. If your scales or your weights are not quite right, they take it ill of you! If you call a man a thief or a scoundrel, in the friendliest way in the world, and can’t produce your proofs on the spot, they take it ill of you! Just as if those were not the biggest scoundrels of all against whom nothing can be proved! If you happen to swear falsely, they take that ill too! Why, not long ago I heard of a man undergoing very unpleasant treatment in public, because he—it seems incredible—because he had set his own house on fire! Stupid nation this! Not the faintest notion of the universal rights of mankind! The house belonged to him; what business was it of people’s what he did with it? Why shouldn’t he make a bonfire of it as soon as smoke this “light brown”? (Good cigar, too!) Yes, they say, but ... hisnext-door neighbour! Stuff and nonsense! AmInot to illuminate, because somebody else prefers to sit in darkness? If my next-door neighbour has cat’s eyes, he had better go and live somewhere else.

No, no,—that delicate feeling,—that tact,—that talent for making black white with all the facility in the world, and without fear of contradiction,—and above all, the gloriouscirconstances atténuantes,—all theseyou find only in France!

Splendid invention, thosecirconstances atténuantes! They are the lightning-conductor of the Procureur du Roi’s wrath, as we used to say at Paris. They are galvanism applied to the Code Napoléon. They are ... in short, they are anything you please.

Oh, pleasant France! beloved France! When I say France, I mean Paris. Paris, with itsbals-musard! Paris, with itsrendezvouson the Boulevards and in the Bois de Boulogne! Paris, with itslimonadières,fruitières,bouquetières, and all otherières!

[Begins to recite, with exaggerated action.]

“O France! O precious land! O paradise o’ the world!I greet thee, though the marsh and mud ... marsh and mud....”

“O France! O precious land! O paradise o’ the world!

I greet thee, though the marsh and mud ... marsh and mud....”

... well, never mind; I shall hit it some other time. How is one to find a rhyme to “world”? I ought to have begun differently. But what I mean is, that if ever I find myself mixed up in thisfâcheuse affaireof the cheques, I shall at once make my native country a present of my citizenship, and take shares in France. Then I shall have the right of being attended to by a French court, take a fewcirconstances atténuanteswith me, and Frans is all right—quits the court without a stain on his character!

A greater fool than that young Huser I never saw in all my born days. Who ever heard of a man letting himself be ill-treated in the place of another? I never could understand that story. The imbecile! I wish I knew where to find him; I should go to him, and say, “Huser, my dear boy, we’ve made a mistake again about a signature or two; do make yourself responsible for the error—there’s a good fellow.” I believe, upon my soul! the man would be fool enough to do it over again. I can’t explain the matter, but I dare swear that Huser, in spite of his sour face, was the most faithful chum in the world. I would bet something that he had been brought up at Paris, or at least had aFrench nurse or a Swissbonne. Sacrifices like that it would be vain to look for elsewhere ... [A knock at the door.] Ho, hey!entrez.

[Sits down on a chair in the middle of the stage, stretching his legs straight out in front of him.]

Look here now, Frans, you must represent your master, the noble and honourable gentleman, Jonkheer Karel Bernhard Anton Jozef Delmare Van Bergen Van Wiesendaal! (Raises his voice.)Entrez!

EnterGeneral Van Weller,in undress uniform, with a riding-whip in his hand.

Frans(without looking round). Who’s there?

Van Weller.Look round, and perhaps you’ll know.

Frans.I’m just like Louis Napoleon’s knights—I do well, but I don’t care to look round.[7]

Van Weller(looks round with displeasure, then approaches and gazes fixedly for a few moments at Frans). No, you are not he. You are too low-looking a fellow to be my nephew. Who are you?

Frans(without changing his position). In the first place, or, as we used to say at Paris,primo, I must request you to allow me to express my thanks for your very flattering opinion with regard to my physiognomy;secundo, it would be the proper thing for you to do me the favour of informing me ofyourname.

“ENTREZ.”

Van Weller.Insolence personified!—my nephew cannot be far off. (To Frans.) My name is Jan Weller. Who are you?

Frans.I don’t know.

Van Weller.It is surely your place to know.

Frans.Alas! who in this corrupt age does know himself? At Ephesus, it was written——

Van Weller.That does not concern me, or you either. What is your name?

Frans.That’s another matter. My late master used to call me....

Van Weller(impatiently). Well?

Frans.... when he was in a good-humour, “You vagabond!”

Van Weller.Pretty! very pretty! If you keep up this game much longer, I shall be tempted to write that name on your back with my horsewhip!

Frans.Don’t do that, please. It would cause confusion, as it is not my name at present.

Van Weller(smiling). Well, tell me your name, then?

Frans.Girls who don’t know me call me “Angel,” or something similar. Others,—of earlier date,—“scoundrel, wretch, miscreant,” and I don’t know what all ... mostly words that are not to be found in theDictionnaire de l’Académie.

Van Weller.Tell me, in the devil’s name, who you are, fellow!

Frans.My mother used to call me Levi....

Van Weller.Well then?

Frans.Yes, but ... that is not my name. She only called me so, because there was a Jew of that name who sold vegetables down our street, and I could imitate him so well.

Van Weller.It is enough to exhaust any man’s patience! Speak out, once for all, in whose rooms am I?

[Andriesputs his head in at the door.]

Andries.Are you here, General?

Frans(springs to his feet). General? Your obedient servant!

Van Weller(to Andries). Come in! [Enter Andries.] Ask this fellow his name. If he does not answer briefly, and to the point, as soon as I give the word “March!” you take him by the collar and throw him out of window.

[Andries salutes, turns on his heel, and marches up to Frans. Frans approaches the bed.]

Van Weller.(to Frans). What are you going to do?

Frans.With your permission, General ... I have always been a lover of military exercises, but being only a civilian I am not at all well up in window-throwing drill, and so, I thought, a couple of pillows on the pavement....

Van Weller.Andries, bring the fellow here!

[Points to the floor with his riding-whip. Frans escapes Andries who walks toward him with a stiff military step.]

Van Weller.Quick march! Seize him, and bring him here!

[Sits down. Andries seizes Frans, and drags him roughly to the spot indicated, but in such a manner that Frans stands with his back to the General.]

Van Weller.Right about face!

[Andries turns Frans round by the shoulders, forcing him to face the General,—then takes a step backward, and remains standing at attention.]

Van Weller.(throws the riding-whip to Andries). Take it! Now, attend! When I say “Out!” you begin to thrash him till the word is given to stop. (To Frans.) What is your name?

Frans.I have already told you, sir, that my mother—

Van Weller.Out!

[Andries lays on with the whip.]

Frans.No—no—oh!—my name is Frans Varel, General!

Van Weller.Leave out the “General!” for the future. And the “oh!” also. Answer briefly what I ask you—no more, no less. What is your profession?

Frans.Valet, or rather secretary, to——

Van Weller.Enough! Who is your master?

Frans.Jonkheer Van Bergen.

Van Weller.Just so, that must be the right man! Has he any other name besides Bergen?

Frans.My master’s full name is Jonkheer Karel Bernhard Anton Jozef Delmare Van Bergen Van Wiesendaal. (Aside.) Oh! how miserably I’m representing him!

Van Weller.How old is your master?

Frans.I think he is twenty-eight.

Van Weller.The same! the same! How long have you been in his service?

Frans.We grew up together.

Van Weller.Then you knew his father?

Frans.Certainly. It was he who used to call me “vagabond,” when——

Van Weller.That is not what I am asking. How long is it since the old gentleman died?

Frans(considering). Fifteen or sixteen years.

Van Weller.Did he die of an illness?

Frans.He certainly did not die of health.

Van Weller(impatiently). Speak out—what did he die of?

Frans.Of ... of ... an exaggerated sense of honour.

Van Weller.Speak plainly, fellow, or I’ll give the word! Relate what happened shortly before his death.

Frans.Shortly before his death....

Van Weller.Well—be quick!

Frans.He was still alive.

Van Weller(angrily). Out!

[Andries lays on with the whip.]

Frans(quickly). Stop!

Van Weller(to Andries). Why are you not thrashing him as I told you? You hear him trying to make a fool of me!

Andries.The word was given to stop, General.

Van Weller.He gave it, not I!

Andries.There was nothing about that in the orders, General.

Van Weller.I am in sole command here, of course. Now speak, you scoundrel, quickly!Out——

Frans.Oh, sir! I’m beginning! The next day——

Van Weller.What? What day? I know nothing yet!

Frans.Monsieur Socrates also knew nothing. The recognition of this fact is the source of all wisdom, General. I am telling you the story in my own way, beginning at the end. I belong to the school of M. Dumas and M. Sue.

Van Weller.Don’t wear out my patience any longer, fellow! Relate consecutively what took place on the last day of Mr Van Bergen’s life.

Frans.He got up at half-past four in the morning, and put on his socks and boots. I did not see this, but I am induced to believe it, as he appeared, a little later, with his boots and spurs on. It is thus a fair inference that he had just put them on, unless, like M. Charles Douze, he had been sleeping in them—in which case....

Van Weller.Are you quite incorrigible? Don’t tell me the story like that!

Frans.AmIto blame?N’est pas conteur qui veut.I did not profess to be a good story-teller, General.

Van Weller.Silence! I ask you for the last time whether you are willing to relate, in a proper manner, what you know of the affair?

Frans.About Charles Douze? He was born——

Van Weller.Out!

[Andries strikes Frans with the whip, several times.]

Frans.Ai! ai!—oh! General!—I’ll tell you everything!

Van Weller.Stop! (To Frans.) Now go on, and think of your back.

Frans.The old gentleman had come back from an assembly at Court, the evening before, very much put out. They said he had had a quarrel, and was to fight a duel next day. I only know this by tradition, as you may say, because I and the young master were under arrest, locked up in the summer house, because we had stolen apri——

Van Weller.Never mind the apricots, and tell me about the duel.

Frans.Well, then—my master must have slept very badly that night. This, too, I only know by way of tradition; and since tradition represents the border-land between the dark region of myth and the daylight of history——

Van Weller.Out——

Frans.Ow!—wait—listen! Next morning he went out at five o’clock, and came home at half-past six, mortally wounded. He had a bullet in his left breast, whence I infer that he had been shot. But I cannot with certainty——

Van Weller.Silence! Who was his adversary?

Frans.That I do not know. The coachman who drove the master out, said....

Van Weller(impatiently). Well?

Frans.Said he did not know either.

Van Weller(stamps his foot). Did your master die soon after?

Frans.Yes—at half-past one that afternoon ... as near as I can guess. For, you see, as the young gentleman had fastened a frog to the pendulum of the big clock that stood in the hall——

Van Weller.To the deuce with your frogs and your clocks! Answer me—did any one come to see Bergen before his death?

Frans.Yes; three officers, one of them a major.

Van Weller(aside). Ah! that was Huser. (To Frans.) What happened then?

Frans.They were admitted to see him, but the servants were sent away. But as I have always been very fond of tragedy scenes, I managed to peep through the keyhole; and I saw that the Major fell on his knees beside the bed, and cried. The kneeling was very well done ... hiscontenancewas simply perfect ... I was all attention. Old Mr Van Bergen held out his hand to him, and said——

Van Weller(rising quickly). That is just what I want to know—go on!

Frans.That he was thirsty.

Van Weller(sits down again, as if disappointed). That’s not what I meant. Go on!

Frans.They gave him something to drink. Then he sat up in bed, and put his arms round that officer. “Let us part in peace,” he said, “sans rancune!” The officer kept on crying, and said, “Can you ever forgive me, Bergen?” The master smiled, and said, “Gladly! gladly!—sans rancune, dearest——”

Van Weller.Well—dearestwhat?

Frans.I couldn’t catch the name. And I never saw that Major again. I heard that he died about six months later.

Van Weller(aside). It must have been Huser—not a doubt about it! (To Frans.) And then? What happened next?

Frans.The wounded man asked one of the officers to call his little Charles—that was the young master, who was still in the summer-house—Ihad got out.... The young gentleman came up to the bed, and, instead of being pleased at getting out sooner than he expected, he began to cry too.

Van Weller.Go on, go on!

Frans.After being silent for some time, the master said to the Major——

Van Weller.Go on, do, fellow! I’ve been waiting for that about an hour!

Frans.He said,—“Don’t distress yourself over my death. It was in fair fight. My fate might have been yours. Only—be a father to my poor Charles!”

Van Weller.What next?

Frans.The Major began to sob again, and cried, “I swear to you I will!” Then Baron Van Bergen smiled pleasantly, held out his hand to him once more, and died. [V. W. remains lost in thought.] It was a touching scene, General. The old gentleman died almost as naturally as M. Furneau of the Théâtre Royal. I should have been quite overcome with emotion if the other two officers had possessed any knowledge of the stage. They seemed to be novices, who had never been in Paris. Not the faintest idea of tragic action—they didn’t even wring their hands! Of course that of itself gave them a stupid attitude——

Van Weller.Will you hold your tongue? How was it that you never saw this officer again?

Frans.They said in the kitchen that he was abroad with his son, and that when he came home he was going to take Master Charles with him. But he never came back.

Van Weller.And his son?

Frans.I never heard anything about him.

Van Weller.Have you ever seen him?

Frans.Never.

Van Weller(aside). I think the fellow is lying. (To Frans.) Did you ever know a man by the name of Huser?

Frans.Huser? Yes, very well indeed. He was the young master’s greatest friend. Or rather—for they weren’t exactly friends—he was ... he did ... he gave ... well, I never quite knew what to make of that Huser.

Van Weller.Now we’re getting near it! What became of Huser?

Frans.H’m!—nothing much! ... he did not turn outanything to boast of, General. He was careless,—he was fast ... that is to say, he wasn’t exactly that. He gambled ... at least, no, he never gambled. But ... in short, I don’t know anything about it. All I know is, that he came to smash in the end.

Van Weller(aside). Poor Gustav! poor boy! (To Frans.) Go on, man, tell me all you know.

Frans.He had a difference of opinion with the Procureur du Roi, as we used to say at Paris. He had been imprudent—(whispers)—forged cheques!—people took it ill of him,—and—you know the law, General!

Van Weller(aside). Poor boy! (To Frans.) But how was that possible? Was he in debt?

Frans.On the contrary, his father had left him plenty of money, and he lived very economically.

Van Weller.And he did not play, you say?

Frans.Never. He had old-fashioned notions on that head.

Van Weller.Was he, perhaps, given to courting?

Frans.Oh! no—he was too stiff and solemn for that. He always looked sulky and discontented. He was a tiresome sort of fellow. I think, even, that he used to make verses.

Van Weller.And he was your master’s friend?

Frans.No, and ... yes! He was always with us, and at our rooms. He always helped the young master when he had the chance; but afterwards he used to give it him like blazes.

Van Weller.Strange, very strange! And how long ago is that?

Frans.Four years.

Van Weller.What was your master doing then?

Frans.Nothing.

Van Weller.How? I thought he was at the university.

Frans.Well—studying, and doing nothing—that comes pretty much to the same thing.

Van Weller.And this Huser?

Frans.Before thatfâcheux évènementI spoke of, he was studying too. I think he wanted to be a lawyer....

Van Weller.Silence! Nothing but what I ask you! Is your master a good sort of man?

Frans.He might certainly be better.

Van Weller.Silence! You deserve a good thrashing. He is a bad servant that speaks ill of his master. If I ask you any question that you would injure your master by answering, then you are to hold your tongue. Do you understand? I don’t want to make any traitors. Remember this carefully, or I shall give the word. Did your master play high at the university? [Frans is silent.] ... So—he’s silent ... therefore our young gentlemandidplay ... therefore he is betraying his master by his silence.... Out!

[Andries strikes him.]

Frans.Oh! my dear good gentleman, whatamI to say? No, no, the young master never gambled.

Van Weller.He lies! Yes—I forgot to say that if you don’t tell the truth, I shall give the word too. Did your master gamble at the university? Out!

[Andries again raises the whip.]

Frans(points to the window). Fire! fire! for heaven’s sake!—save yourselves! ... fire!

[The General hastens to the window. Andries remains rigidly at his post. Frans runs to the door.]

Frans.I should have done that sooner. (With a low bow.) General, your humble servant.

[Exit.

Van Weller(returning from the window). I see nothing, absolutely nothing. Where is the fellow?

Andries.He’s run away, General.

Van Weller.Why didn’t you hold him?

Andries.That was not in the orders, sir.

Van Weller.The scoundrel has been making a fool of me! Never mind—I know enough for the present. Do you know him, Andries?

Andries.Yes, sir, he’s a good-for-nothing fellow.

Van Weller.Of course—like master, like man!

EnterSophie,with a note.

Sophie.You here, Andries? (Looks at General V. W.) Who’s this man?

Andries.Hush—sh!

Van Weller(to Andries). Silence! (To Sophie.) What do you want here, my girl?

Sophie(looks hard at him). I have a note for young Mr Van Bergen’s man. (To Andries.) Hasn’t Frans been here? Surely this is the gentleman’s room? He said number four, and——

Van Weller.Just give me that note.

Sophie.Are you Mr Van Bergen’s man too?

Van Weller.Yes. Give it here.

Sophie(to Andries). Will it be all right if I give it to this man? [Andries does not answer.] Good gracious! what’s the matter? Why are you standing there as glum and stiff as if you were on parade?

[Tries to seize his hand, but he pushes her gently back.]

Andries(nodding towards the General, who is watching them with an air of amusement). Eh!

Sophie(shakes him by the arm). Do speak! What is it?

Andries.Eh!

Sophie.Hashemade you like that? (To Van Weller.) What does this mean? I don’t like it. It doesn’t suit me at all. May I ask you, for the last time, to tell me what it means? [Van Weller laughs heartily.] Still better! He thinks he’s making a fool of me. [Turns to Andries and shakes his arm again.] Andries, Andries, do speak, or I shall be angry!

Andries(under his breath). Do be quiet! It’s the General!

“ENTER SOPHIE WITH A NOTE.”

Sophie.Oh! (Turns to Van Weller.) Please, sir, may I ask why you wouldn’t let Andries go out on leave the other day? That was not nice of you. I’d——

Van Weller(to Andries). Who is this pretty child?

Andries.She’s Mam’zelle Sophie, Freule Van Wachler’s maid.

Van Weller.Why, that’s fortunate! (To Sophie.) Well, and how is my sister Koosje?

Sophie(surprised). Your sister Koosje, sir?

Van Weller.Yes—Mevrouw Wachler!

Sophie(curtseys). Very well, sir. (To Andries.) Think of that—I never knew that the mistress’s Christian name was Koosje. Why, that’s a name any one of us might have!

Van Weller(to Andries). Are you in love with this charming creature?

Andries.With your permission,—yes, General.

Sophie.That’snice of you, Andries!Inever asked any one’s permission. And supposing the gentleman were to say, No?

Van Weller.Well, well,—you may make your mind easy,—I won’t say No! (To Andries, calling him aside.) Something has just occurred to me. I don’t want that rascal to tell his master that I have been questioning him. Does he care about...? [makes the gesture of drinking].

Andries.Yes, General.

Van Weller.And try to persuade your sweetheart to stay here a little. I should like to talk to her.

Andries.Yes, General. (To Sophie.) Just give your note to the General, Sophie, and answer him nicely if he asks anything, and be as pleasant and polite as you can. Remember, he can let me off on leave!

[Salutes, and turns to go, but comes back.]

Van Weller.Well—what is it now?

Andries.AmIto be drunk, too, General?

Van Weller.No need for that! March!

[Exit Andries.

Sophie.Do you wish to take the note, sir?

Van Weller.Just lay it down here.

Sophie.But I think there’s some hurry about it. The young gentleman said I was to bring a key back with me.

[Van Weller takes the note, and reads it, with gestures of astonishment. Looking round, he sees the casket. He goes up to it, and stands still, lost in thought. At last he takes the key out of the lock and gives it to Sophie.]

Van Weller.There’s the key, my girl. You have done your errand well—so go now—just go.

Sophie.But Andries said you wanted to talk to me.

Van Weller.Yes ... no ... it’s hardly needed now.... Or.... (hesitating) How are things going, Sophie?—is there to be a wedding soon?

Sophie(confused). Yes—if Andries....

Van Weller.I’m not speaking of Andries now—I mean in the Van Wachler family.

Sophie.Ah! I think there will, indeed! for the young lady has three lovers.

Van Weller.That’s enough to begin with. I had only heard of one. And who are they?

Sophie(counts on her fingers). First, Jonkar Van Bergen,—then the music-master, Holm,—and the third is old Mr Buys.

Van Weller.What do you say?—a music-master?

Sophie.Oh, don’t laugh at him, sir—he’s such a good man! It’s only a pity that he’s always so sad.

Van Weller.And why do you think he is one of the young lady’s lovers?

Sophie.Why—because Mr Van Wachler said so himself.

Van Weller.Surely you misunderstood him, my good girl.

Sophie.Why so? For my part, I should prefer him to Jonkar Van Bergen. Mr Holm is less merry and cheerful, but then one can see that he has had his troubles. They say he is a prince, who has for some reason or other turned music-master,—but I’m not sure of that.

Van Weller.And Jonkar Karel?

Sophie.Jonkar Van Bergen is—but please don’t say I said so, sir—I don’t think he is to be trusted. This morning, he had been talking to Madame about the young lady and Mr Holm—Madame is very much opposed to the music-master....

Van Weller.That I can well believe!

Sophie.Well ... he put his arm round her neck and kissed her, and when she was out of the room he made fun of her, though she had just been calling him “charmant garçon.” Later on, I heard him say, “Just as silly as ever! She’ll choke with her affection some day!” Now, do you call that a man to be trusted, sir?

Van Weller.No, not exactly. [Chucks her under the chin.] But old Buys now?—how did you come to think of him?

Sophie.I don’t quite understand how it is. I never used to notice anything. He is nearly as old as you, sir—and one can’t love a man like that, can one?

Van Weller(with a start). Ah!

Sophie.I mean love like—love as one——

Van Weller.Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll make you a present of the explanation.

Sophie.Well—I know nothing about it—but, the other day, when I went up to her sitting-room—now don’t say I told you, sir!

Van Weller.No, no—just go on.

Sophie.She was sitting on his knee, and he kissed her.

Van Weller.Well, I’m surprised at my niece!

Sophie.Oh! don’t think any harm of her, sir! The three lovers is the only thing, and I don’t think the worse of her for that! If I were a man, I’d want to be her lover too,—I’m sure I would!

Van Weller(aside). I think I must be on the track. (To Sophie.) Look here, can you hold your tongue?

Sophie.Yes—when I’ve nothing to say.

Van Weller.When you get home, don’t mention having seen me. I have just returned from Java, and want to surprise the family. Give young Mr Karel the key, and say you had it from Frans.

Sophie.But—that would be a story.

Van Weller.Did you never tell a fib in your life?

Sophie(after thinking a while). Only once—when Andries asked me whether....

Van Weller.All right, my child. Say whatever you like.

Sophie(coaxingly). Please, sir, if Andries asks for leave——

Van Weller.He shall get it! If I were Andries, and had a sweetheart like you, I should have deserted long ago!

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