How does Lucien act after he has received the fateful news? All lamentations is he when he bursts into the room after his interview with his father. Chartier, Laure and Hélène wait to learn what, by the counsel, no doubt, of Briant _père_, Lucien proposes to do. _Lucien._ Ah, mon ami [_addressing Chartier_], who would have believed it? What a fatality! What a drama for my conscience! Well, well—what one has to do is to occupy oneself with the present and possible. You will tell Lucienne from me that she has no longer any need to fear for the future: that shall be _my_ charge. _Chartier._ Well done. Well done. _Lucien._ Yes; but upon one condition—oh, a condition of stringent importance. The condition is that she must return immediately to this village, near Limoges. She has lived there up to the present hour—she can quite easily go on living there. I will send her every month, and I will guarantee to her in the event of my death, a yearly pension, that will be sufficient for her support. There. Do you find that I am acting very badly? And you, madame [_to Laure_], do _you_ think I am behaving badly? _Laure._ Well, not exactly bad. _Lucien._ Well, that comforts me a little. But what a catastrophe! Ah, if ever I have a son of my own, I shall try that he may profit by my example. But Lucien has not a son of his own. The only child he has is the daughter he is going to bury alive in the village near Limoges, without even seeing her—this, of course, by the counsel of _l’homme correct_, Briant _père_. But here Hélène intervenes. She has walked innocently into the trap prepared for her by Laure. In other words, she has seen Lucienne, and her heart has gone out to the motherless girl. Thus she has come by her own path into Laure’s plot and plan; she is resolved to adopt Lucienne. She urges her case, which has the independent advantage of upsetting the counsels of Briant _père_, with warm generosity, but, at the same time, with her usual vivacity. _Hélène._ Lucien, you are my closest friend; and the object of my dutiful affection, of course—but you can’t be my constant companion and the confidante, whom I want, in sometimes empty and tiresome hours. Understand that; and consent to what I beg of you. Well, the companion I want _is here_; she is your daughter. You have not given me a child; make me the present of Lucienne. I am not a mother; but let me have the illusion of maternity. Firm in the belief that happiness lies before her and her husband in the adoption of Lucienne, Hélène will hear of no other solution to the situation. And in this she has the good genius, Laure, with her; and next the _bonhomme philosophe_, Chartier; and finally the timid, despondent Lucien himself, who, in the last scene, comes face to face with his daughter.