Mr. A.E. Lohman.
FIRST SANS CULOTTE Mr. Fred Clifton.
SECOND SANS CULOTTE Mr. C.H. Wentworth.
DIANE DE BEAUMONT Miss Annie Robe.
NANETTE POTIN Miss Louise Rial.
SCARLOTTE Miss Lillie Eldridge.

PAUL KAUVAR

ACT I.

TIME. _The Terror_. 1794.

SCENE. _Paris. Study of_ PAUL KAUVAR'S _apartment_.

_The decorating is in the classic style of the painter David.
Old-fashioned escritoire with chair. Folding doors across corner up
stage. Window, with table beneath it. Fireplace, with picture of_ PAUL
KAUVAR _over it, and fire on andirons. Doors at the right and left of
stage.

At the Rise of Curtain_, NANETTE _crosses to fireplace and shovels
ashes into a pail_. POTIN _is heard outside, singing, in loud and
discordant tones, "La Marseillaise."_

NANETTE.

[_Starting up angrily_.]

There's that lazy man of mine, singing, while I work.

[_Crosses to folding doors, flings them open and shouts roughly_.]

Dodolphe!--Dodolphe Potin!

POTIN.

[_Meekly, outside_.]

Aye, aye!

NANETTE.

I want you!

POTIN.

[_Outside_.]

Aye, aye!

NANETTE.

Hurry up!--Do you hear?

POTIN.

[_Appearing_.]

I could hear your sweet voice if I were deaf as Justice.

NANETTE.

Fool! Justice is blind, not deaf.

POTIN.

True! That's why you always get the better of me, dear. Justice
listens too much and looks too little.

NANETTE.

Bah!

[_Pointing to pail_.]

Take that rubbish to the cellar.

POTIN.

[_Crosses, lifts pail, and looks into it_.]

Ashes!--Heigho! Every fire has its ashes.

NANETTE.

Aye--and the fire that warms a man's home may burn his house
down!--Mark you that, Citizen.

POTIN.

Oh, I see! You mean a wife, who should be a comfort, often proves a
curse.

NANETTE.

I mean, Citizen Potin, that in days of revolution, husbands are easily
suppressed.

POTIN.

[_Starting_.]

Take care! A word against the Revolution is treason and sure death.

NANETTE.

Bah! Better death, than a life of terror like that in France to-day.

POTIN.

[_Terrified_.]

Good heavens, Nanette! Fewer words than these have guillotined our
betters! Can you never hold your tongue?

NANETTE.

Never!--while I have a truth to tell.

POTIN.

Tell the truth! Good Lord, that's fatal.

NANETTE.

Aye, for in these noble days of liberty we are only