your uncle's side.

_Dal._ Why?

_Mad._ She told me--yes, me--that your affairs were embarrassed, and
that--

_Dal._ That my affairs were embarrassed;--and do you believe it?

_Mad._ No. But she spoke to me in such a manner as to make me think she
suspected I was the cause of it, or at least, that I had contributed to
it.

_Dal._ [_A little excitedly._] You! she suspects you!

_Mad._ Do not be angry, my dear husband. I know very well her want of
judgment.

_Dal._ [_With feeling._] My dear wife!

_Mad._ Do not be distressed. Believe me, I shall think no more of it. It
all arises from him; your uncle is the cause of it all.

_Dal._ Oh no! my uncle has not a bad heart.

_Mad._ He not a bad heart? Heavens! the worst in the world! Has he not
shown it to me?--But I forgive him.

_Enter a_ Servant.

_Ser._ Here is a letter for you, sir.

_Dal._ Give it to me. [_He takes the letter. Exit_ Servant.] Let us see
it. [_Agitated._] This is the hand of my lawyer. [_Opens the letter._]

_Mad._ What does he write?

_Dal._ Excuse me for a moment. [_He retires apart, reads, and shows
displeasure._]

_Mad._ [_Aside._] There must be some bad news.

_Dal._ [_Aside, after reading the letter._] I am ruined!

_Mad._ [_Aside._] My heart beats!

_Dal._ [_Aside._] My poor wife! what will become of her? How can I tell
her?--I have not the courage.

_Mad._ [_Weeping._] My dear Dalancourt, tell me, what is it? Trust your
wife: am I not the best friend you have?

_Dal._ Take it and read: this is my situation. [_Gives her the letter._]
[_Exit._

Madame Dalancourt, _alone_.

_Mad._ I tremble.--[_Reads._] "_Sir, all is lost; the creditors will not
subscribe. The decree was confirmed. I inform you of it as soon as
possible; be on your guard, for your arrest is ordered._"--What do I
read! what do I read! My husband in debt, in danger of losing his
liberty! Can it be possible? He does not gamble, he has no bad habits;
he is not addicted to unusual luxury.--By his own fault--may it not then
be my fault? Oh, God! what a dreadful ray of light breaks in upon me!
The reproofs of Angelica, the hatred of Signor Geronte, the contempt he
shows for me, day after day! The bandage is torn from my eyes: I see the
errors of my husband, I see my own. Too much love has been his fault, my
inexperience has made me blind. Dalancourt is culpable, and I perhaps am
equally so. What remedy is there in this cruel situation? His uncle
only--yes--his