LADY (bitter-sweetly). What else but a love letter could stir up so much hate? NAPOLEON. Why is it sent to me? To put the husband in my power, eh? LADY. No, no: it can be of no use to you: I swear that it will cost you nothing to give it to me. It has been sent to you out of sheer malice--solely to injure the woman who wrote it. NAPOLEON. Then why not send it to her husband instead of to me? LADY (completely taken aback). Oh! (Sinking back into the chair.) I--I don't know. (She breaks down.) NAPOLEON. Aha! I thought so: a little romance to get the papers back. (He throws the packet on the table and confronts her with cynical goodhumor.) Per Bacco, little woman, I can't help admiring you. If I could lie like that, it would save me a great deal of trouble. LADY (wringing her hands). Oh, how I wish I really had told you some lie! You would have believed me then. The truth is the one thing that nobody will believe. NAPOLEON (with coarse familiarity, treating her as if she were a vivandiere). Capital! Capital! (He puts his hands behind him on the table, and lifts himself on to it, sitting with his arms akimbo and his legs wide apart.) Come: I am a true Corsican in my love for stories. But I could tell them better than you if I set my mind to it. Next time you are asked why a letter compromising a wife should not be sent to her husband, answer simply that the husband would not read it. Do you suppose, little innocent, that a man wants to be compelled by public opinion to make a scene, to fight a duel, to break up his household, to injure his career by a scandal, when he can avoid it all by taking care not to know? LADY (revolted). Suppose that packet contained a letter about your own wife? NAPOLEON (offended, coming off the table). You are impertinent, madame. LADY (humbly). I beg your above suspicion. NAPOLEON (with a deliberate assumption of superiority). You have committed an indiscretion. I pardon you. In future, do not permit yourself to introduce real persons in your romances. LADY (politely ignoring a speech which is to her only a breach of good manners, and rising to move towards the table). General: there really is a woman's letter there. (Pointing to the packet.) Give it to me. NAPOLEON (with brute conciseness, moving so as to prevent her getting too near the letters). Why? LADY. She is an old friend: we were at school together. She has written to me imploring me to prevent the letter falling into your hands. NAPOLEON. Why has it been sent to me? LADY. Because it compromises the director Barras. NAPOLEON (frowning, evidently startled). Barras! (Haughtily.) Take care, madame. The director Barras is my attached personal friend. LADY (nodding placidly). Yes. You became friends through your wife.