[the main room over the terrace of the palace in compiègne. an autumn night in 1782. the room is lit with many candles, and there is dancing. the queen of france is present, the court, and some few of the neighbouring gentry, among whom a lady called madame d'escurolles, about forty, silent, and rather timid. a gentleman about the court, a trifle older than herself, stands by and talks to her as she sits and looks at the dancing. he takes his title from noirétable in the forèz, but he has never been there.]

madame d'escurolles. i cannot see anything in the queen of what you say, m. de noirétable. she seems to be a little violent, but not vulgar.

monsieur de noirétable. it is precisely as you will, but i confess she spoils a room for me. the truth is that if she jostled and elbowed she would please me better; she always looks as though she would. i am disappointed in my amusement.

madame d'escurolles. m. de noirétable, she is a good woman. i can see it in her eyes. they are very frank.

[pg 206]

monsieur de noirétable. oh! yes! madame, they are frank enough. they are being frank just now to half the room. ugh! i have seen market women looking so, but only at the return from market (he pauses). have you ridden to-day?

madame d'escurolles (laughing gently). no, sir, i have not ridden. we do not ride at my age in compiègne ... but, tell me, do you not think there is something majestic about the queen?... you must remember i have not seen her for three years, and it may be you are used to her carriage. but do you not admire that poise of the head and that high manner; or perhaps i should say, have you not admired them?

monsieur de noirétable. oh! yes, madame, i have admired it, and i do, as also her hairdresser and her shoemaker. am i not at court?

madame d'escurolles. but they say it is at court that she is least admired?

monsieur de noirétable (shocked). i would not presume to say that! god forbid! from what i have heard in the street i would say she was least admired in paris, or, perhaps—(musing)—perhaps in the village of louveciennes ... nay, i have forgotten st. cloud. st. cloud would run louveciennes hard.

madame d'escurolles. i have do doubt these names are well known in versailles.

monsieur de noirétable. madame, versailles knows everything and everybody, because versailles[pg 207] is the queen. for myself, after many years in the full view of versailles and taking my money from versailles, yet i cannot say i like versailles.

madame d'escurolles (innocently). and why not, sir?

monsieur de noirétable (looking vaguely at the distant candles and speaking as vaguely). upon my soul i cannot say!... it may be that versailles is too frank or perhaps there is too much poise about it ... it is certainly majestic.

madame d'escurolles (as though merely to continue). it must compare well with poor compiègne!

monsieur de noirétable (ceasing to look at the candles). i would not compare versailles with compiègne because i have seen versailles so much and compiègne so little. indeed, madame (if you will believe me!), i have but twice visited compiègne since my year in garrison there, but that was fifteen years ago, and in those days, as you will remember, it was your father who befriended me. i found compiègne very hospitable, and if i have returned there too seldom i very readily acknowledge my error.

madame d'escurolles (as though to change the subject). pray, sir, do you not find compiègne much older? they say that age particularly affects compiègne.

monsieur de noirétable (with a little humour). i know that i have aged, but i would not swear for compiègne. madame d'escurolles (with enthusiasm), i cannot forbear to tell you that compiègne in my[pg 208] eyes does not age, but grows. the walls of compiègne are more subtle and her woods more deep; her air is more gracious and full of certitude and peace than in those days i speak of when she held me for a full year.

madame d'escurolles. oh! held you, monsieur de noirétable! you were under no constraint. it was your garrison.

monsieur de noirétable (rapidly). madame, my youth was held. but i have not told you all of my own ageing nor of this return to compiègne.... you say the town has aged also. ah! you should see other towns! there is in compiègne to-day, i swear to you, more deep and more desirable laughter than in the youngest and most virginal of towns!

madame d'escurolles. why, m. de noirétable, you grow lyrical! (smiling.) one would think you had seen too many towns!

monsieur de noirétable (lightly and rapidly). a man in the service must see many towns.... it is not wholly his choice. i volunteered as well, and saw more towns than i positively needed, madame; to tell the truth, a man is none the better for visiting too many towns.

madame d'escurolles. it is the appetite for travel, monsieur, and the love of adventure.

monsieur de noirétable. precisely, madame, you put it very well ... the appetite, madame, and the love ... of adventure ... you put it very well [pg 209]indeed. (abruptly.) it led me to narbonne, to florac, and to cahors.

madame d'escurolles (shuddering). oh! monsieur de noirétable! what dreadful names!

monsieur de noirétable (lightly). not at all, madame! not at all! delightful!... but passing, very passing! believe me, in the presence of compiègne, no man desires to return to florac or to narbonne, nor even to cahors.

madame d'escurolles. no ... but he may choose to visit other places.

monsieur de noirétable (gravely). he may be compelled to visit them, madame. (she looks away.)

madame d'escurolles (is silent for a little while and then looks up at him as gravely). must he visit so many towns?

monsieur de noirétable (slightly lifting his shoulders). oh! must! must! must is a strong word, madame. but does, does; does is a working word, madame. and a man does visit many towns, and he comes back to compiègne.

madame d'escurolles (thoughtfully). sir, compiègne has age upon it, though you are pleased to call it by prettier names. compiègne is even sad with age. i will not deny her charm, i will even concede her beauty—but it is harder than ever to-day to be content with compiègne. (with a sudden change of tone.) we have spoken too much of cities. we old friends who do not dance treat the place too much like a card-room, and we converse when younger[pg 210] souls are full of the music.... tell me, monsieur de noirétable—since the subject is more consonant with music and with dancing—are you fond of verse?

monsieur de noirétable (solemnly). i dote upon it! especially such verse as may be written in praise of compiègne....

madame d'escurolles (laughing). oh! monsieur de noirétable, you begin to be ridiculous. come, is there no verse you may cite as your favourite?

monsieur de noirétable. why, madame, i fear to seem even more ridiculous if i quote latin.

madame d'escurolles (good-humouredly). not at all, sir! we know latin in compiègne!

monsieur de noirétable (grimly). so i seemed to remember. well, then, i confess my favourite verse is the horatian ode which begins—

donec gratus eram tibi ...

and which ends (he speaks glowingly)—

... iracundior hadria

tecum vivere amem; tecum obeam libens!

madame d'escurolles (doubtfully). are you quite sure you have the latin right? (she ponders awhile.) for my own part i prefer the simple songs of our own people about here and the rhymes of children. do you know

nous n'irons plus aux bois

les lauriers sont coupés?

[pg 211]

monsieur de noirétable (almost yawning). oh! bless you, yes. who does not.... madame?

(the music ceases and the reverences to the queen begin. madame d'escurolles, as she moves forward, says in a low tone to monsieur de noirétable as she passes him, "when do you next come to compiègne?")

monsieur de noirétable (as he goes out alone, to himself). when compiègne comes to meet me halfway; which is perhaps a little difficult for so much stone.