(The Marquis de la Mise-en-ScÈne is discovered writing at a little inlaid table. He is about 42 years of age, and looks worse than that. He believes himself to be alone in the room, when he is somewhat suddenly addressed from the open door by the Duchess de la Tour-de-Force, who has just entered. She is a woman of about 55, somewhat too commanding. The place is Versailles, and the time is 1753.)

The Duchess de la Tour-de-Force. What are you doing, Monsieur de la Mise-en-ScÈne?

The Marquis de la Mise-en-ScÈne (continuing to write and without turning round). I am writing, Duchess, as you can plainly see.

Duchess. Unfortunately I cannot see through your body, but I see you are seated at a table, and from the constrained attitude of your elbow and the awkward wagging of your head I can well believe that you are occupied as you say.

The Marquis (without turning round). Come, Duchess, would you have me jump up like a bourgeois? Shall I ask after your health, which I know to be robust, or murmur something polite about your niece? Shall I come and hold the door for you, or do any of those things to which you are used in provincial hotels? Or shall I go on writing? (He goes on writing.) (A pause.) (The Duchess walks into the room, shuts the door rather noisily, and sits down upon a chair. She sighs.)

The Marquis (still writing, murmuring to himself). "Indifferent"! Tut, tut, how does one spell "indifferent"? "You cannot be indifferent to my plea" ... "plea." ... I know how to spell "plea," but how does one spell "indifferent"? (Turning round for the first time to the Duchess and showing a set, half-ironical face, with thin lips and steady grey eyes.) Duchess, how do you spell "indifferent"?

Duchess (carelessly). Oh, I spell it sometimes one way, sometimes another. But I believe there are two f's.

Marquis (turning again to his letters). "Indifferent" (with two f's) "to my plea...." (He leans back and looks at the paper with his head on one side as though he were examining a picture.) It looks all right, Duchess. I always go by that, though I think it is easier to tell whether a bit of spelling is right if you can see it in print.

Duchess (gravely). I thoroughly agree with you, Marquis de la Mise-en-ScÈne. (A pause during which the scratching of the quill continues.) I do not think she will mind about the spelling; but if I know anything of her sex she will not read the end of the letter if you make it too long.

Marquis (still writing away busily). Yes, she will, for it is full of business.

Duchess (with some interest in her voice). Why? What kind of business?

Marquis. I'm writing a proposal of marriage, Madam.

Duchess (really startled). Good heavens, Monsieur de la Mise-en-ScÈne! I always thought you were married!

Marquis (continuing to write). Madame de la Tour-de-Force, that is the malicious sort of thing people say at Versailles about provincials. (He continues to write.)

Duchess. I don't care how much business you put into it; if you make it as long as that she won't read to the end.

Marquis. Oh, yes, she will. The letter isn't very long, but I'm writing it out several times.

Duchess. Really! Your cynicism! And suppose the various ladies meet, or suppose two of them accept you at once! What then?

Marquis (getting up quickly). I never thought of that! (He puts his left hand on to the hilt of his sword, puts his right hand to his chin, and thoughtfully paces up and down the room.) Yes, Duchess, that would be very awkward. In fact (going to the window and looking out)—in fact, now that you have suggested it ... of course I might write to the second and say I already had an engagement ... but I think I shall drive tandem and not send off the second letter until I have received an answer to the first; nor the third until I have received an answer to the second, and so forth.... On the other hand, I'm glad I've got the work done, because the business part at the end is very complicated.

Duchess (as though to make conversation). Have you ever written a proposal of marriage before, Monsieur de la Mise-en-ScÈne?

Marquis. No, Duchess, I have not; and, what is more curious, no lady has ever shown me one. But I have a book in which various forms of letters are set down to be used upon different occasions in life. I have taken all the first part of this letter of mine from this book. The long part at the end which is all about business I got out of a letter from my solicitor.

Duchess (quietly, as she folds her hands upon her lap). If you will take my advice, Marquis, you will not put in so much business upon the very first occasion. I should have asked—Have you actually met any of these ladies?

Marquis (stoutly). Yes, all of them, and one of them three or four times. Tell me, Duchess, since you know something of the world, in what form is a declaration most pleasing?

Duchess (serenely). By word of mouth, Monsieur de la Mise-en-ScÈne.

Marquis. Oh, by word of mouth! And under what conditions? On horseback? During a gentle stroll? In a ball-room?

Duchess. No, rather under the conditions of ordinary life, in an ordinary room such as this, in the midst of one's ordinary avocations.

Marquis (stops in his pacing up and down, stands near her, and, looking at her fixedly, says): I attach the greatest possible value to your judgment and advice, Duchess. And I fear I have wasted a good deal of time writing those letters at the little table. Here is an ordinary room, here are we both at our ordinary avocations, which consist in doing nothing, now sauntering up and down the floors, now sitting upon chairs; all is as you would desire it. We are not on horseback, we are not at a ball, we are not strolling through the park. Will you marry me?

Duchess (composedly). Certainly not!

Marquis. Oh, well then, I'm very glad I did write those letters after all. It's a great thing to have one's work behind one instead of in front of one. But before I get to the tedious task again I do particularly beg you to consider my proposal. (He sits down in a chair opposite her and begins to tick off the fingers of his left hand with the forefinger of his right.) My first point is this——

Duchess (wearily). Oh, Monsieur de la Mise-en-ScÈne, are you going to put it under three heads?

Marquis. No, Madam, I act in this fashion because I have seen the attitude adopted invariably by all diplomats when they would convince some great and powerful Sovereign; and my first point is this: We know each other and we know the world. On the other hand, we are not intimate friends, which would be fatal. We are both free. We are both careless as to differences in rank.

Duchess. I am not.

Marquis. Well, well, let us pass that: it is a matter one can soon get used to after the first years of married life.

Duchess. I assure you, you are wasting your time. I have not the slightest intention of marrying you or anybody else. But I will help you to get married if you like. My advice will be useful to you, as you say. And, first of all, show me those letters.

Marquis (warmly). Thank you, Madam; thank you a thousand times! This one here is to Madame de Livaudan (hands her one letter and holds the other ready in his hand).

Duchess (glancing at it). It is too formal!

Marquis. This one (he hands her another) is to an Italian lady, whose name I will get hold of before I write the direction outside; for the moment it escapes me, but she is a Contessa, something like Marolio, and I met her in a coach.

Duchess (reads it). It is far too long.

Marquis. This one (he hands her a third) is to a distant cousin of mine in Madrid, formerly the wife of——

Duchess (in surprise). But are they all widows?

Marquis (gravely). Yes, Madam, they are all widows—and all rich.

Duchess (sighing profoundly). It certainly seems a pity that with your knowledge of Versailles and your pleasant habit of friendship ... and your gallant record in the war ... you should be compelled to such adventures.

Marquis (lightly). There! there! Madam, do not pity me. Many a poor fellow is worse off than I. The fourth one.... (He produces yet another letter.)

Duchess (waving it aside). No, no, I have already seen too much of that correspondence! Trust me, Marquis, it will all end in smoke, and may even very possibly make you ridiculous.

Marquis (apologetically). Madam, I have done my best. I have put before you the very reasonable proposal that we should marry. I put it before you in the very manner which you suggest. It did not, for the moment at least, meet with your approval: and surely it was common-sense to keep my line of retreat open upon the four widows, by any one of which roads I might have fallen back after my defeat at your hands.

Duchess (thoughtfully). No, I do not think we should get married. There are too many doubts.... I have seen such experiments fail ... and (shrugging her shoulders) succeed ... I confess I have seen them fail and succeed.

Marquis. Indeed?

Duchess (still ruminating, but in a quiet way). Yes.... On one's own land.... Yes, that is how it always has to begin. And then there would be the getting of a post (she still continues to think it over, frowning with the interest of her subject; at last she rises promptly, and looking the Marquis full in the face she says): We have half-an-hour or more before the hunt comes home. We will walk round the gardens together and give this very important matter the discussion it deserves.

Marquis (cheerfully). By all means, Duchess, so that you do not make me miss the courier who is to take the first of these missives. I am entirely at your disposal.

Duchess. It is my deliberate advice to you not to post the first of those letters to-day. Come! (She goes out of the door in a rather majestic manner, and he follows, smiling.)