you-speaks to me.

FERRAND. Ah! You are a Princess in disguise?

MRS. MEGAN. No fear!

FERRAND. No? What is it then you do to make face against the
necessities of life? A living?

MRS. MEGAN. Sells flowers.

FERRAND. [Rolling his eyes.] It is not a career.

MRS. MEGAN. [With a touch of devilry.] You don't know what I do.

FERRAND. Ma'moiselle, whatever you do is charming.

[MRS. MEGAN looks at him, and slowly smiles.]

MRS. MEGAN. You're a foreigner.

FERRAND. It is true.

MRS. MEGAN. What do you do for a livin'?

FERRAND. I am an interpreter.

MRS. MEGAN. You ain't very busy, are you?

FERRAND. [With dignity.] At present I am resting.

MRS. MEGAN. [Looking at him and smiling.] How did you and 'im come
here?

FERRAND. Ma'moiselle, we would ask you the same question.

MRS. MEGAN. The gentleman let me. 'E's funny.

FERRAND. 'C'est un ange' [At MRS. MEGAN's blank stare he
interprets.] An angel!

MRS. MEGAN. Me luck's out-that's why I come.

FERRAND. [Rising.] Ah! Ma'moiselle! Luck! There is the little
God who dominates us all. Look at this old! [He points to TIMSON.]
He is finished. In his day that old would be doing good business.
He could afford himself--[He maker a sign of drinking.]--Then come
the motor cars. All goes--he has nothing left, only 'is 'abits of a
'cocher'! Luck!

TIMSON. [With a vague gesture--drowsily.] Kick the foreign beggars
out.

FERRAND. A real Englishman . . . . And look at me! My father
was merchant of ostrich feathers in Brussels. If I had been content
to go in his business, I would 'ave been rich. But I was born to
roll--"rolling stone"to voyage is stronger than myself. Luck! . .
And you, Ma'moiselle, shall I tell your fortune? [He looks in her
face.] You were born for 'la joie de vivre'--to drink the wines of
life. 'Et vous voila'! Luck!

[Though she does not in the least understand what he has said,
her expression changes to a sort of glee.]

FERRAND. Yes. You were born loving pleasure. Is it not? You see,
you cannot say, No. All of us, we have our fates. Give me your
hand. [He kneels down and takes her hand.] In each of us there is
that against which we cannot struggle. Yes, yes!

[He holds her hand, and turns it over between his own.
MRS. MEGAN remains stolid, half fascinated, half-reluctant.]

TIMSON. [Flickering into consciousness.] Be'ave yourselves! Yer
crimson