awfully hot in here,
isn't it? Wouldn't it be jollier drivin'? Shall we--shall we make a
move?

CLARE. Yes.

The YOUNG MAN turns to look for the waiter, but ARNAUD is not in
the room. He gets up.

YOUNG MAN. [Feverishly] D---n that waiter! Wait half a minute, if
you don't mind, while I pay the bill.

As he goes out into the corridor, the two gentlemen re-appear.
CLARE is sitting motionless, looking straight before her.

DARK ONE. A fiver you don't get her to!

BLOND ONE. Done!

He advances to her table with his inimitable insolence, and
taking the cigar from his mouth, bends his stare on her, and
says: "Charmed to see you lookin' so well! Will you have supper
with me here to-morrow night?" Startled out of her reverie,
CLARE looks up. She sees those eyes, she sees beyond him the
eyes of his companion-sly, malevolent, amused-watching; and she
just sits gazing, without a word. At that regard, so clear, the
BLOND ONE does not wince. But rather suddenly he says: "That's
arranged then. Half-past eleven. So good of you. Good-night!"
He replaces his cigar and strolls back to his companion, and in
a low voice says: "Pay up!" Then at a languid "Hullo, Charles!"
they turn to greet the two in their nook behind the screen.
CLARE has not moved, nor changed the direction of her gaze.
Suddenly she thrusts her hand into the, pocket of the cloak that
hangs behind her, and brings out the little blue bottle which,
six months ago, she took from MALISE. She pulls out the cork
and pours the whole contents into her champagne. She lifts the
glass, holds it before her--smiling, as if to call a toast, then
puts it to her lips and drinks. Still smiling, she sets the
empty glass down, and lays the gardenia flowers against her
face. Slowly she droops back in her chair, the drowsy smile
still on her lips; the gardenias drop into her lap; her arms
relax, her head falls forward on her breast. And the voices
behind the screen talk on, and the sounds of joy from the
supper-party wax and wane.

The waiter, ARNAUD, returning from the corridor, passes to his
service-table with a tall, beribboned basket of fruit. Putting
it down, he goes towards the table behind the screen, and sees.
He runs up to CLARE.

ARNAUD. Madame! Madame! [He listens for her breathing