MACAIRE. Henri-Frederic de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de Brest.

BRIGADIER. Your profession?

MACAIRE. Gentleman.

BRIGADIER. No, but what is your trade?

MACAIRE. I am an analytical chemist.

BRIGADIER. Justice is inscrutable. Your papers are in order. (_To
BERTRAND._) Now, sir, and yours?

BERTRAND. I feel kind of ill.

MACAIRE. Bertrand, this gentleman addresses you. He is not one of us; in
other scenes, in the gay and giddy world of fashion, one is his
superior. But to-day he represents the majesty of law; and as a citizen
it is one's pride to do him honour.

BRIGADIER. Those are my sentiments.

BERTRAND. I beg your pardon, I----(_Gives papers._)

BRIGADIER. Your name?

BERTRAND. Napoleon.

BRIGADIER. What? In your passport it is written Bertrand.

BERTRAND. It's this way: I was born Bertrand, and then I took the name
of Napoleon, and I mostly always call myself either Napoleon or
Bertrand.

BRIGADIER. The truth is always best. Your profession?

BERTRAND. I am an orphan.

BRIGADIER. What the devil! (_To MACAIRE._) Is your friend an idiot?

MACAIRE. Pardon me, he is a poet.

BRIGADIER. Poetry is a great hindrance to the ends of justice. Well,
take your papers.

MACAIRE. Then we may go?

SCENE IV

_To these, CHARLES, who is seen on the gallery going to the door of
Number Thirteen. Afterwards all the characters but the NOTARY and the
MARQUIS._

BRIGADIER. One glass more. (_BERTRAND touches MACAIRE, and points to
CHARLES, who enters Number Thirteen._)

MACAIRE. No more, no more, no more.

BRIGADIER (_rising and taking MACAIRE by the arm_). I stipulate.

MACAIRE. Engagement in Turin!

BRIGADIER. Turin?

MACAIRE. Lyons, Lyons!

BERTRAND. For God's sake ...

BRIGADIER. Well, good-bye!

MACAIRE. Good-bye, good----

CHARLES (_from within_). Murder! Help! (_Appearing._) Help here! The
Marquis is murdered.

BRIGADIER. Stand to the door. A man up there. (_A GENDARME hurries up
staircase into Number Thirteen, CHARLES following him. Enter on both
sides of gallery the remaining characters of the piece, except the
NOTARY and the MARQUIS._)

MACAIRE. Bitten, by God! \
> _Aside._
BERTRAND. Lost! /

BRIGADIER (_to DUMONT_). John Paul Dumont, I arrest you.

DUMONT. Do your duty, officer. I can answer for myself and my own
people.

BRIGADIER. Yes, but these strangers?

DUMONT. They are strangers to me.

MACAIRE. I am an honest man: I