The lady, without speaking, stands upright, and takes a packet of papers from her bosom. For a moment she has an intense impulse to dash them in his face. But her good breeding cuts her off from any vulgar method of relief. She hands them to him politely, only averting her head. The moment he takes them, she hurries across to the other side of the room; covers her face with her hands; and sits down, with her body turned away to the back of the chair. NAPOLEON (gloating over the papers). Aha! That's right. That's right. (Before opening them he looks at her and says) Excuse me. (He sees that she is hiding her face.) Very angry with me, eh? (He unties the packet, the seal of which is already broken, and puts it on the table to examine its contents.) LADY (quietly, taking down her hands and showing that she is not crying, but only thinking). No. You were right. But I am sorry for you. NAPOLEON (pausing in the act of taking the uppermost paper from the packet). Sorry for me! Why? LADY. I am going to see you lose your honor. NAPOLEON. Hm! Nothing worse than that? (He takes up the paper.) LADY. And your happiness. NAPOLEON. Happiness, little woman, is the most tedious thing in the world to me. Should I be what I am if I cared for happiness? Anything else? LADY. Nothing-- (He interrupts her with an exclamation of satisfaction. She proceeds quietly) except that you will cut a very foolish figure in the eyes of France. NAPOLEON (quickly). What? (The hand holding the paper involuntarily drops. The lady looks at him enigmatically in tranquil silence. He throws the letter down and breaks out into a torrent of scolding.) What do you mean? Eh? Are you at your tricks again? Do you think I don't know what these papers contain? I'll tell you. First, my information as to Beaulieu's retreat. There are only two things he can do--leatherbrained idiot that he is!--shut himself up in Mantua or violate the neutrality of Venice by taking Peschiera. You are one of old Leatherbrain's spies: he has discovered that he has been betrayed, and has sent you to intercept the information at all hazards--as if that could save him from ME, the old fool! The other papers are only my usual correspondence from Paris, of which you know nothing. LADY (prompt and businesslike). General: let us make a fair division. Take the information your spies have sent you about the Austrian army; and give me the Paris correspondence. That will content me. NAPOLEON (his breath taken away by the coolness of the proposal). A fair di-- (He gasps.) It seems to me, madame, that you have come to regard my letters as your own property, of which I am trying to rob you. LADY (earnestly). No: on my honor I ask for no letter of yours--not a word that has been written by you or to you. That packet contains a stolen letter: a letter written by a woman to a man--a man not her husband--a letter that means disgrace, infamy-- NAPOLEON. A love letter?