? Still, I have a trick. Where is that damned old man?

DUMONT (_entering_). I hear you want me.

MARCAIRE. Ah, my good old Dumont, this is very sad.

DUMONT. Dear me, what is wrong?

MARCAIRE. Dumont, you had a dowry for my son?

DUMONT. I had; I have: ten thousand francs.

MARCAIRE. It's a poor thing, but it must do. Dumont, I bury my old
hopes, my old paternal tenderness.

DUMONT. What? is he not your son?

MARCAIRE. Pardon me, my friend. The Marquis claims my boy. I will not
seek to deny that he attempted to corrupt me, or that I spurned his
gold. It was thirty thousand.

DUMONT. Noble soul!

MARCAIRE. One has a heart.... He spoke, Dumont, that proud noble spoke,
of the advantages to our beloved Charles; and in my father's heart a
voice arose, louder than thunder. Dumont, was I unselfish? The voice
said no; the voice, Dumont, up and told me to begone.

DUMONT. To begone? to go?

MARCAIRE. To begone, Dumont, and to go. Both, Dumont. To leave my son to
marry, and be rich and happy as the son of another; to creep forth
myself, old, penniless, broken-hearted, exposed to the inclemencies of
heaven and the rebuffs of the police.

DUMONT. This is what I had looked for at your hands. Noble, noble man!

MARCAIRE. One has a heart ... and yet, Dumont, it can hardly have
escaped your penetration that if I were to shift from this hostelry
without a farthing and leave my offspring to wallow--literally--among
millions, I should play the part of little better than an ass.

DUMONT. But I had thought ... I had fancied....

MARCAIRE. No, Dumont, you had not; do not seek to impose upon my
simplicity. What you did think was this, Dumont: for the sake of this
noble father, for the sake of this son whom he denies for his own
interest--I mean, for his interest--no, I mean, for his own--well,
anyway, in order to keep up the general atmosphere of sacrifice and
nobility, I must hand over this dowry to the Baron Henri-Frederic de
Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de Brest.

DUMONT. Noble, O noble! \
> _Together: eachshaking him by
BERTRAND. Beautiful, O beautiful! / the hand._

DUMONT. Now Charles is rich he needs it not. For whom could it more
fittingly be set aside than for his noble father? I will give it you at
once.

BERTRAND. At once, at once!

MACAIRE (_aside to BERTRAND_). Hang on. (_Aloud._) Charles, Charles, my
lost boy! (_He falls weeping at L. table. DUMONT ente