(Musotte and Jean.)

MUSOTTE

Then you received the letter?

JEAN

Yes.

MUSOTTE

And you came immediately?

JEAN

Certainly.

MUSOTTE

Thanks—ah! thanks. I hesitated a long time before warning you—hesitated even this morning, but I heard the midwife talking with the nurse and learned that to-morrow perhaps it might be too late, so I sent Doctor Pellerin to call you immediately.

JEAN

Why didn't you call me sooner?

MUSOTTE

I never thought that my illness would become so serious. I did not wish to trouble your life.

JEAN [points to the cradle]

But that child! How is it that I was not told of this sooner?

MUSOTTE

You would never have known it, if his birth had not killed me. I would have spared you this pain—this cloud upon your life. When you left me, you gave me enough to live upon. Everything was over between us; and besides, at any other moment than this, would you believe me if I said to you: “This is your child?”

JEAN

Yes, I have never doubted you.

MUSOTTE

You are as good as ever, my Jean. No, no, I am not lying to you; he is yours, that little one there. I swear it to you on my deathbed; I swear it to you before God!

JEAN

I have already told you that I believed you. I have always believed you.

MUSOTTE

Listen, this is all that has happened. As soon as you left me, I became very ill. I suffered so much that I thought I was going to die. The doctor ordered a change of air. You remember, it was in the spring. I went to Saint-Malo—to that old relative, of whom I have often talked to you.

JEAN

Yes, yes.

MUSOTTE

It was in Saint-Malo, after some days, that I realized that you had left me a pledge of your affection. My first desire was to tell you everything, for I knew that you were an honest man—that you would have recognized this child, perhaps even have given up your marriage; but I would not have had you do that. All was over; was it not?—and it was better that it should be so. I knew that I could never be your wife [smiles], Musotte, me, Madame Martinel—oh, no!

JEAN

My poor, dear girl. How brutal and hard we men are, without thinking of it and without wishing to be so!

MUSOTTE

Don't say that. I was not made for you. I was only a little model; and you, you were a rising artist, and I never thought that you would belong to me forever. [Jean sheds tears.] No, no, don't cry; you have nothing to reproach yourself with. You have always been so good to me. It is only God who has been cruel to me.

JEAN

Musotte!

MUSOTTE

Let me go on. I remained at Saint-Malo without revealing my condition. Then I came back to Paris, and here some months afterward the little one was born—the child! When I fully understood what had happened to me, I experienced at first such fear; yes, such fear! Then I remembered that he was bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh; that you had given him life, and that he was a pledge from you. But one is so stupid when one knows nothing. One's ideas change just as one's moods change, and I became contented all at once; contented with the thought that I would bring him up, that he would grow to be a man, that he would call me mother. [Weeps.] Now, he will never call me mother. He will never put his little arms around my neck, because I am going to leave him; because I am going away—I don't know where; but there, where everybody goes. Oh, God! My God!

JEAN

Calm yourself, my little Musotte. Would you be able to speak as you do speak if you were as ill as you think you are?

MUSOTTE

You do not see that the fever is burning within me; that I am losing my head, and don't know longer what I say.

JEAN

No, no; please calm yourself.

MUSOTTE

Pet me; pet me, Jean, and you will calm me.

JEAN [kisses her hair; then resumes]

There, there; don't speak any more for a minute or two. Let us remain quietly here near each other.

MUSOTTE

But I must speak to you; I have so many things to say to you yet, and do not know how to say them. My head is beyond my control. Oh, my God! how shall I do it? [Raises herself, looks around her and sees the cradle.] Ah, yes, I know; I recollect, it is he, my child. Tell me, Jean, what will you do with him? You know that I am an orphan, and when I am gone he will be here all alone—alone in the world! Poor little thing! Listen, Jean, my head is quite clear now. I shall understand very well what you answer me now, and the peace of my closing moments depends upon it. I have no one to leave the little one to but you.

JEAN

I promise you that I will take him, look after him, and bring him up.

MUSOTTE

As a father?

JEAN

As a father.

MUSOTTE

You have already seen him?

JEAN

Yes.

MUSOTTE

Go and look at him again. [Jean goes over to the cradle.]

JEAN

He is pretty, isn't he?

MUSOTTE

Everybody says so. Look at him, the poor little darling, who has enjoyed only a few days of life as yet. He belongs to us. You are his father; I am his mother, but soon he will have a mother no more. [In anguish.] Promise me that he shall always have a father.

JEAN [goes over to her]

I promise it, my darling!

MUSOTTE

A true father, who will always love him well?

JEAN I promise it.

MUSOTTE

You will be good—very good—to him?

JEAN

I swear it to you!

MUSOTTE

And then, there is something else—but I dare not—

JEAN

Tell it to me.

MUSOTTE

Since I came back to Paris, I have sought to see you without being seen by you, and I have seen you three times. Each time you were with her—with your sweetheart, your wife, and with a gentleman—her father, I think. Oh, how I looked at her! I asked myself: “Will she love him as I have loved him? Will she make him happy? Is she good?” Tell me, do you really believe she is very good?

JEAN

Yes, darling, I believe it.

MUSOTTE

You are very certain of it?

JEAN

Yes, indeed.

MUSOTTE

And I thought so, too, simply from seeing her pass by. She is so pretty! I have been a little jealous, and I wept on coming back. But what are you going to do now as between her and your son?

JEAN

I shall do my duty.

MUSOTTE

Your duty? Does that mean by her or by him?

JEAN

By him.

MUSOTTE

Listen, Jean: when I am no more, ask your wife from me, from the mouth of a dead woman, to adopt him, this dear little morsel of humanity-to love him as I would have loved him; to be a mother to him in my stead. If she is tender and kind, she will consent. Tell her how you saw me suffer—that my last prayer, my last supplication on earth was offered up for her. Will you do this?

JEAN

I promise you that I will.

MUSOTTE

Ah! How good you are! Now I fear nothing; my poor little darling is safe, and I am happy and calm. Ah, how calm I am! You didn't know, did you, that I called him Jean, after you? That does not displease you, does it?

JEAN [weeps]

No, no!

MUSOTTE

You weep—so you still love me a little, Jean? Ah, how I thank you for this! But if I only could live; it must be possible. I feel so much better since you came here, and since you have promised me all that I have asked you. Give me your hand. At this moment I can recall all our life together, and I am content—almost gay; in fact, I can laugh—see, I can laugh, though I don't know why. [Laughs.]

JEAN

Oh, calm yourself for my sake, dear little Musotte.

MUSOTTE

If you could only understand how recollections throng upon me. Do you remember that I posed for your “Mendiante,” for your “Violet Seller,” for your “Guilty Woman,” which won for you your first medal? And do you remember the breakfast at Ledoyen's on Varnishing Day? There were more than twenty-five at a table intended for ten. What follies we committed, especially that little, little—what did he call himself—I mean that little comic fellow, who was always making portraits which resembled no one? Oh, yes, Tavernier! And you took me home with you to your studio, where you had two great manikins which frightened me so, and I called to you, and you came in to reassure me. Oh, how heavenly all that was! Do you remember? [Laughs again.] Oh, if that life could only begin over again! [Cries suddenly.] Ah, what pain! [To Jean, who is going for the doctor.] No, stay, stay! [Silence. A sudden change comes over her face.] See, Jean, what glorious weather! If you like, we will take the baby for a sail on a river steamboat; that will be so jolly! I love those little steamboats; they are so pretty. They glide over the water quickly and without noise. Now that I am your wife, I can assert myself—I am armed. Darling, I never thought that you would marry me. And look at our little one—how pretty he is, and how he grows! He is called Jean after you. And I—I have my two little Jeans—mine—altogether mine! You don't know how happy I am. And the little one walks to-day for the first time! [Laughs aloud, with her arms stretched out, pointing to the child which she thinks is before her.]

JEAN [weeps]

Musotte! Musotte! Don't you know me?

MUSOTTE

Indeed I know you! Am I not your wife? Kiss me, darling. Kiss me, my little one.

JEAN [takes her in his arms, weeping and repeating]

Musotte! Musotte! [Musotte rises upon her couch, and with a gesture to Jean points to the cradle, toward which he goes, nodding “Yes, yes,” with his head. When Jean reaches the cradle, Musotte, who has raised herself upon her hands, falls lifeless upon the long steamer-chair. Jean, frightened, calls out] Pellerin! Pellerin!