are coming into the boxes):
There is the wife of the Chief-Justice.

THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Oranges, milk. . .

THE VIOLINISTS (tuning up):
La--la--

CUIGY (to Christian, pointing to the hall, which is filling fast):
'Tis crowded.

CHRISTIAN:
Yes, indeed.

FIRST MARQUIS:
All the great world!

(They recognize and name the different elegantly dressed ladies who enter the
boxes, bowing low to them. The ladies send smiles in answer.)

SECOND MARQUIS:
Madame de Guemenee.

CUIGY:
Madame de Bois-Dauphin.

FIRST MARQUIS:
Adored by us all!

BRISSAILLE:
Madame de Chavigny. . .

SECOND MARQUIS:
Who sports with our poor hearts!. . .

LIGNIERE:
Ha! so Monsieur de Corneille has come back from Rouen!

THE YOUNG MAN (to his father):
Is the Academy here?

THE BURGHER:
Oh, ay, I see several of them. There is Boudu, Boissat,
and Cureau de la Chambre, Porcheres, Colomby, Bourzeys,
Bourdon, Arbaud. . .all names that will live! 'Tis fine!

FIRST MARQUIS:
Attention! Here come our precieuses; Barthenoide, Urimedonte, Cassandace,
Felixerie. . .

SECOND MARQUIS:
Ah! How exquisite their fancy names are! Do you know them all, Marquis?

FIRST MARQUIS:
Ay, Marquis, I do, every one!

LIGNIERE (drawing Christian aside):
Friend, I but came here to give you pleasure. The lady comes not. I will
betake me again to my pet vice.

CHRISTIAN (persuasively):
No, no! You, who are ballad-maker to Court and City alike, can tell me
better than any who the lady is for whom I die of love. Stay yet awhile.

THE FIRST VIOLIN (striking his bow on the desk):
Gentlemen violinists!

(He raises his bow.)

THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Macaroons, lemon-drink. . .

(The violins begin to play.)

CHRISTIAN:
Ah! I fear me she is coquettish, and over nice and fastidious!
I, who am so poor of wit, how dare I speak to her--how address her?
This language that they speak to-day--ay, and write--confounds me;
I am but an honest soldier, and timid withal. She has ever her place,
there, on the right--the empty box, see you!

LIGNIERE (making as if to go):
I must go.

CHRISTIAN (detaining him):
Nay, stay.

LIGNIERE:
I cannot. D'Assoucy waits me at the tavern, and here one dies of thirst.

THE BUFFET-GIRL (passing before him with a tray):
Orange drink?

LIGNIERE:
Ugh!

THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Milk?

LIGNIERE:
Pah!

THE BUFFET-GIRL:
Rivesalte?

LIGNIERE:
Stay.
(To Christi