The Dramas of Victor Hugo: Mary Tudor, Marion de Lorme, Esmeralda Part 63

GRACIEUX (_with profound obeisance_).

It's I, my lord. I'm mad about her!

LAFFEMAS.

You!

[_Laffemas, disappointed, turns away with annoyance; then he comes back and shakes his purse in Gracieux's eyes and ears._

Know you the sound of ducats?

GRACIEUX.

Heavenly tones!

LAFFEMAS (_aside_).

I've got my Didier!

[_To Gracieux._] Do you see this purse?

GRACIEUX.

How much!

LAFFEMAS.

Gold ducats--twenty!

GRACIEUX.

Humph!

LAFFEMAS (_jingling the gold in his face_).

Will you?

GRACIEUX (_grabbing the purse from him_).

Most certainly!

[_With theatrical tone to Laffemas, who listens anxiously._

My lord, if your back bore Just in the center a great hump, as big As is your belly, and if those two bags Were filled with louis, sequins, and doubloons, In that case--

LAFFEMAS (_eagerly_).

Well, what would you do?

GRACIEUX (_putting the purse into his pocket_).

I'd take The whole of it, and I would say-- [_With profound obeisance._ I thank you; You are a gentleman!

LAFFEMAS (_aside, furious_).

Plague on the monkey!

GRACIEUX (_aside, laughing_).

The devil take the cat!

LAFFEMAS (_aside_).

They have agreed On what to do, if any one suspects.

'Tis a conspiracy. They'll all be dumb; Accursed gypsy devils!

[_To Gracieux who is going away._

Give me back My purse!

GRACIEUX (_turning around, with tragic tone_).

What do you take me for, my lord?

What will the world think of us, pray, if you Propose and I agree to anything So infamous as sell for gold a life, My soul? [_Turns to go._

LAFFEMAS.

That's as you please; but give me back My money!

GRACIEUX.

No, I keep my honor, sir, And we have no accounts to settle.

[_He salutes him and re-enters barn._

SCENE IX

LAFFEMAS (_alone_).

Humph!

The wretched juggler! Pride in such base souls!

If you some day should fall into my hands Unoccupied with better sort of game-- But this will not find Didier! Now, I can't Take all this crowd and put them to the torture.

This is worse work than hunting needles in A haystack. Faith! a chemist's crucible Bewitched I ought to have, which, eating up The lead and copper, would reveal at last The golden ingot hid by much alloy.

Go to the Cardinal without my prize?

[_Striking his brow._ That's it! The clever thought! Oh, joy! He's mine!

[_Calling through the barn door._ Ho, gentlemen, comedians! one word, please.

[_The actors crowd out of the barn._