rauds (involving even the denial of the
marriage to the deceased baron, and the tarnishing of his good name)
which are so very wicked that he binds them up in a book and labels them
"Memoires du Diable." Armed with this knowledge he goes down to the
desolate old chateau in the country--part of the wrested-away
estate--from which the baroness and her daughter are going to be
ejected. He informs the mother that he can right her and restore the
property, but must have, as his reward, her daughter's hand in marriage.
She replies: "I cannot promise my daughter to a man of whom I know
nothing. The gain would be an unspeakable happiness, but I resolutely
decline the bargain." The daughter, however, has observed all, and she
comes forward and says: "Do what you have promised my mother you can do,
and I am yours." Then the piece goes on to its development, in an
admirable way, through the unmasking of all the hypocrites. Now, M.
Robin, partly through his knowledge of the secret ways of the old
chateau (derived from the lawyer's papers), and partly through his going
to a masquerade as the devil--the better to explode what he knows on the
hypocrites--is supposed by the servants at the chateau really to be the
devil. At the opening of the last act he suddenly appears there before
the young lady, and she screams, but, recovering and laughing, says:
"You are not really the ----?" "Oh dear no!" he replies, "have no
connection with him. But these people down here are so frightened and
absurd! See this little toy on the table; I open it; here's a little
bell. They have a notion that whenever this bell rings I shall appear.
Very ignorant, is it not?" "Very, indeed," says she. "Well," says M.
Robin, "if you should want me very much to appear, try the bell, if only
for a jest. Will you promise?" Yes, she promises, and the play goes on.
At last he has righted the baroness completely, and has only to hand
her the last document, which proves her marriage and restores her good
name. Then he says: "Madame, in the progress of these endeavours I have
learnt the happiness of doing good for its own sake. I made a necessary
bargain with you; I release you from it. I have done what I undertook to
do. I wish you and your amiable daughter all happiness. Adieu! I take my
leave." Bows himself out. People on the stage astonished. Audience
astonished--incensed. The daughter is going to cry, when she looks at
the box on the table, remembers the bell, runs to