ere's the rub.

DUMONT. But what am I to do? He's not my son, I tell you: Charles is not
my son.

NOTARY. I know.

DUMONT. Perhaps a glass of wine would clear him?

NOTARY. That's what I want. (_They go out, L.U.E._)

ALINE. And now, if you've done deranging my table, to the cellar for the
wine, the whole pack of you. (_Manet sola, considering table._) There!
it's like a garden. If I had as sweet a table for my wedding, I would
marry the Notary.

SCENE III

_The Stage remains vacant. Enter, by door L.C., MACAIRE, followed by
BERTRAND with the bundle; in the traditional costume_

MACAIRE. Good! No police!

BERTRAND (_looking off L.C._). Sold again!

MACAIRE. This is a favoured spot, Bertrand: ten minutes from the
frontier: ten minutes from escape. Blessings on that frontier line! The
criminal hops across, and lo! the reputable man. (_Reading._) "'Auberge
des Adrets,' by John Paul Dumont." A table set for company; this is
fate: Bertrand, are we the first arrivals? An office; a cabinet; a
cash-box--aha! and a cash-box, golden within. A money-box is like a
Quaker beauty: demure without, but what a figure of a woman! Outside
gallery: an architectural feature I approve; I count it a convenience
both for love and war; the troubadour--twang-twang; the
craftsmen----(_Makes as if turning key._) The kitchen window: humming
with cookery; truffles, before Jove! I was born for truffles. Cock your
hat: meat, wine, rest, and occupation; men to gull, women to fool, and
still the door open, the great unbolted door of the frontier!

BERTRAND. Macaire, I'm hungry.

MACAIRE. Bertrand, excuse me, you are a sensualist. I should have left
you in the stone-yard at Lyons, and written no passport but my own. Your
soul is incorporate with your stomach. Am I not hungry too? My body,
thanks to immortal Jupiter, is but the boy that holds the kite-string;
my aspirations and designs swim like the kite sky-high, and overlook an
empire.

BERTRAND. If I could get a full meal and a pound in my pocket I would
hold my tongue.

MACAIRE. Dreams, dreams! We are what we are; and what are we? Who are
you? who cares? Who am I? myself? What do we come from? an accident.
What's a mother? an old woman. A father? the gentleman who beats her.
What is crime? discovery. Virtue? opportunity. Politics? a pretext.
Affection? an affectation. Morality? an affair of latitude. Punishment?
this side the frontier. Reward? the other. Property? plunder. B