DUCHESS. Here? Do you think it’s amusing here? Do you suppose that if _I_ were eighteen, I should be here, among all your old ladies and your old gentlemen? I should say not! I’d associate with young people all the time; the younger the better, the handsomer the better, the more admirers I had the better! There are only two things that women never grow weary of: loving and being loved! And the older I grow the more I realize that there is no other happiness in the world! MME. DE CÉRAN. There are more serious things in life than that, Duchess. DUCHESS. More serious than love? Nonsense! Do you mean to say that when that is gone, there is any other happiness left? When we are old, we have false pleasures, just as we have false teeth, but there is only one true happiness, and that is love, love! MME. DE CÉRAN. Oh, Aunt, you are too romantic! DUCHESS. The fault of my years! Women find romance but twice in their lives: at sixteen in their own hearts, at sixty in the hearts of others. Well, you want your son to marry Lucy; I want him to marry Suzanne. You say Suzanne is in love with Bellac; I say, LUCY. Perhaps we are both wrong; it is for Roger to decide. MME. DE CÉRAN. How? DUCHESS. I shall explain the whole situation to him the moment he arrives. MME. DE CÉRAN. Do you intend——? DUCHESS. He is her tutor! (_Aside_) He must know. (_Enter_ LUCY.) LUCY. (_In a low-cut evening gown_) I believe your son has arrived, Madame. MME. DE CÉRAN. The Count! DUCHESS. Roger! LUCY. His carriage has just come into the court. MME. DE CÉRAN. At last! DUCHESS. Were you afraid he wouldn’t return? MME. DE CÉRAN. I feared he would not return in time. I was anxious about that place for him. LUCY. Oh, he wrote me this morning that he would return to-day, Thursday. DUCHESS. And you missed one of the Professor’s lectures in order to see him that much sooner. Hm, that’s lovely! LUCY. That wasn’t the reason, Madame. DUCHESS. (_Aside to_ MME. DE CÉRAN) You see?—No? Why then? LUCY. No, I was looking for—I—it was another matter. DUCHESS. I don’t suppose it is for that Schopenhauer gentleman you are all dressed up like that, is it? LUCY. Is there not to be company this evening, Madame? DUCHESS. (_Aside to_ MME. DE CÉRAN) Bellac, that’s as plain as day! (_To_ LUCY) Let me congratulate you, then. I have nothing to complain of, except those frightful glasses. Why do you wear such awful things? LUCY. Because I cannot see without them, Madame. DUCHESS. A nice reason! (_Aside_) Isn’t she practical! I detest practical people! She’ll pass, she’s not as thin as I thought she was! These English occasionally disappoint one pleasantly! MME. DE CÉRAN. Ah, here’s my son! (_Enter_ ROGER.) ROGER. Mother! Mother! How good it is to see you again! MME. DE CÉRAN. How good it is to see you, my dear! (_She holds out her hand, which he kisses_)