Catherine and Edstaston are now alone. Catherine has in her hand a sceptre or baton of gold. Wrapped round it is a new pamphlet, in French, entitled L'Homme aux Quarante Ecus. She calmly unrolls this and begins to read it at her ease as if she were quite alone. Several seconds elapse in dead silence. She becomes more and more absorbed in the pamphlet, and more and more amused by it. CATHERINE [greatly pleased by a passage, and turning over the leaf]. Ausgezeiehnet! EDSTASTON. Ahem! Silence. Catherine reads on. CATHERINE. Wie komisch! EDSTASTON. Ahem! ahem! Silence. CATHERINE [soliloquizing enthusiastically]. What a wonderful author is Monsieur Voltaire! How lucidly he exposes the folly of this crazy plan for raising the entire revenue of the country from a single tax on land! how he withers it with his irony! how he makes you laugh whilst he is convincing you! how sure one feels that the proposal is killed by his wit and economic penetration: killed never to be mentioned again among educated people! EDSTASTON. For Heaven's sake, Madam, do you intend to leave me tied up like this while you discuss the blasphemies of that abominable infidel? Agh!! [She has again applied her toe.] Oh! Oo! CATHERINE [calmly]. Do I understand you to say that Monsieur Voltaire is a great philanthropist and a great philosopher as well as the wittiest man in Europe? EDSTASTON. Certainly not. I say that his books ought to be burnt by the common hangman [her toe touches his ribs]. Yagh! Oh don't. I shall faint. I can't bear it. CATHERINE. Have you changed your opinion of Monsieur Voltaire? EDSTASTON. But you can't expect me as a member of the Church of England [she tickles him] --agh! Ow! Oh Lord! he is anything you like. He is a philanthropist, a philosopher, a beauty: he ought to have a statue, damn him! [she tickles him]. No! bless him! save him victorious, happy and glorious! Oh, let eternal honors crown his name: Voltaire thrice worthy on the rolls of fame! [Exhausted.] Now will you let me up? And look here! I can see your ankles when you tickle me: it's not ladylike. CATHERINE [sticking out her toe and admiring it critically]. Is the spectacle so disagreeable? EDSTASTON. It's agreeable enough; only [with intense expression] for heaven's sake don't touch me in the ribs. CATHERINE [putting aside the pamphlet]. Captain Edstaston, why did you refuse to come when I sent for you? EDSTASTON. Madam, I cannot talk tied up like this. CATHERINE. Do you still admire me as much as you did this morning? EDSTASTON. How can I possibly tell when I can't see you? Let me get up and look. I can't see anything now except my toes and yours. CATHERINE. Do you still intend to write to the London Gazette about me? EDSTASTON. Not if you will loosen these straps. Quick: loosen me. I'm fainting. CATHERINE. I don't think you are [tickling him]. EDSTASTON. Agh! Cat! CATHERINE. What [she tickles him again]. EDSTASTON [with a shriek]. No: angel, angel!