MADAME BAIL. That's the first point. We should submit to everything rather than do as some others do and fly in the face of convention. We belong to society. MARTHE. In that case I should at least have peace. MADAME BAIL. Peace! Nothing of the sort, my dear. You know very well, you would have regrets. MARTHE [_ironically_]. What regrets? MADAME BAIL. God knows! Perhaps, though you don't know it, you still love him, in some hidden corner of your heart. You may pity him. You can go a long way with that feeling. Perhaps you have same vague hope--[_Marthe is about to speak._] Well, we won't say any more about that. And then you are religious, you have a big forgiving soul. Aren't these sufficient reasons for waiting? You may regret it. Believe me, my dear child. [_Marthe stands silent, and Madame Bail changes her attitude and tone of voice._] Now, you must admit, you haven't so much to complain of. Your husband is far from the worst; indeed, he's one of the best. What would you do if you were in Madame Ponceau's position? Her husband spends all their money and stays away for two and three months at a time. He goes away, is not seen anywhere, and when he returns, he has the most terrible scenes with poor Marie, and even beats her! Now, Alfred is very good to you, pays you all sorts of attentions, he comes home three evenings a week, gives you all sorts of presents. And these laces! He never bothers you or abuses you. See how nice he was just a few minutes ago, simple and natural! He was lovely, and said the pleasantest imaginable things. MARTHE [_bitterly_]. He flattered you! MADAME BAIL. That isn't the reason! MARTHE. That you say nice things about him? Nonsense! He pleases and amuses you. You don't want me to apply for a separation because you want him near you, and because you are afraid of what people will say. Be frank and admit it. MADAME BAIL. Marthe, that's not at all nice of you. MARTHE. It's the truth. MADAME BAIL. No, no, nothing of the sort. MARTHE. Another thing that grates on me in this life we are leading is to see the way my mother takes her son-in-law's part against me. You find excuses for him on every occasion; and your one fear seems to be that he should hear some random word that will wound him; and the proof is that he never interrupts one of our conversations--which are always on the same subject--but that you don't fail to make desperate signs to me to keep still! MADAME BAIL. What an idea! [_Marthe is about to reply, when Madame Bail perceives Lamblin reëntering, and signs to Martha to say nothing more._] It's he! [_Marthe shrugs her shoulders._] [_Enter Lamblin._] LAMBLIN [_joyfully_]. There, that's done. One hundred and two signatures. Kiss me, little one. In less than an hour I've earned a thousand francs for us. Isn't that splendid? [_Enter a servant._] SERVANT. Monsieur? LAMBLIN. What is it? SERVANT [_embarrassed_]. Some one--from the office--who wishes to speak with Monsieur.