tell you what you must know far better than I do. But you are
not angry with me, are you?

NAPOLEON. Angry! No, no: not a bit, not a bit. Come: you are a very
clever and sensible and interesting little woman. (He pats her on the
cheek.) Shall we be friends?

LADY (enraptured). Your friend! You will let me be your friend! Oh!
(She offers him both her hands with a radiant smile.) You see: I show
my confidence in you.

NAPOLEON (with a yell of rage, his eyes flashing). What!

LADY. What's the matter?

NAPOLEON. Show your confidence in me! So that I may show my confidence
in you in return by letting you give me the slip with the despatches,
eh? Ah, Dalila, Dalila, you have been trying your tricks on me; and I
have been as great a gull as my jackass of a lieutenant. (He advances
threateningly on her.) Come: the despatches. Quick: I am not to be
trifled with now.

LADY (flying round the couch). General--

NAPOLEON. Quick, I tell you. (He passes swiftly up the middle of the
room and intercepts her as she makes for the vineyard.)

LADY (at bay, confronting him). You dare address me in that tone.

NAPOLEON. Dare!

LADY. Yes, dare. Who are you that you should presume to speak to me in
that coarse way? Oh, the vile, vulgar Corsican adventurer comes out in
you very easily.

NAPOLEON (beside himself). You she devil! (Savagely.) Once more, and
only once, will you give me those papers or shall I tear them from
you--by force?

LADY (letting her hands fall ). Tear them from me--by force! (As he
glares at her like a tiger about to spring, she crosses her arms on her
breast in the attitude of a martyr. The gesture and pose instantly
awaken his theatrical instinct: he forgets his rage in the desire to
show her that in acting, too, she has met her match. He keeps her a
moment in suspense; then suddenly clears up his countenance; puts his
hands behind him with provoking coolness; looks at her up and down a
couple of times; takes a pinch of snuff; wipes his fingers carefully
and puts up his handkerchief, her heroic pose becoming more and more
ridiculous all the time.)

NAPOLEON (at last). Well?

LADY (disconcerted, but with her arms still crossed devotedly). Well:
what are you going to do?

NAPOLEON. Spoil your attitude.

LADY. You brute! (abandoning the attitude, she comes to the end of the
couch, where she turns with her back to it, leaning against it and
facing him with her hands behind her.)

NAPOLEON. Ah, that's b