DUMONT. Dear me, and on this happy occasion I had registered a vow that every poor traveller should have his keep for nothing, and a pound in his pocket to help him on his journey. MACAIRE (_aside_). A pound in his pocket? BERTRAND (_aside_). Keep for nothing? MACAIRE (_aside_). Bitten! BERTRAND (_aside_). Sold again! DUMONT. I will send you what we have: poor fare, perhaps, for gentlemen like you. SCENE V MACAIRE, BERTRAND; _afterwards_ CHARLES, _who appears on the gallery_, _and comes down_ BERTRAND. I told you so. Why will you fly so high? MACAIRE. Bertrand, don’t crush me. A pound: a fortune! With a pound to start upon—two pounds, for I’d have borrowed yours—three months from now I might have been driving in my barouche, with you behind it, Bertrand, in a tasteful livery. BERTRAND (_seeing_ CHARLES). Lord, a policeman! MACAIRE. Steady! What is a policeman? Justice’s blind eye. (_To_ CHARLES.) I think, sir, you are in the force? CHARLES. I am, sir, and it was in that character— MACAIRE. Ah, sir, a fine service! CHARLES. It is, sir, and if your papers— MACAIRE. You become your uniform. Have you a mother? Ah, well, well! CHARLES. My duty, sir— MACAIRE. They tell me one Macaire—is not that his name, Bertrand?—has broken jail at Lyons? CHARLES. He has, sir, and it is precisely for that reason— MACAIRE. Well, good-bye. (_Shaking_ CHARLES _by the hand and leading him towards the door_, _L. U. E._) Sweet spot, sweet spot. The scenery is . . . (_kisses his finger-tips_. _Exit_ CHARLES). And now, what is a policeman? BERTRAND. A bobby. SCENE VI MACAIRE, BERTRAND; _to whom_ ALINE _with tray_; _and afterwards_ MAIDS ALINE (_entering with tray_, _and proceeding to lay table_, _L._) My men, you are in better luck than usual. It isn’t every day you go shares in a wedding feast. MACAIRE. A wedding? Ah, and you’re the bride. ALINE. What makes you fancy that? MACAIRE. Heavens, am I blind? ALINE. Well, then, I wish I was. MACAIRE. I take you at the word: have me. ALINE. You will never be hanged for modesty. MACAIRE. Modesty is for the poor: when one is rich and nobly born, ’tis but a clog. I love you. What is your name? ALINE. Guess again, and you’ll guess wrong. (_Enter the other servants with wine baskets_.) Here, set the wine down. No, that is the old Burgundy for the wedding party. These gentlemen must put up with a different bin. (_Setting wine before_ MACAIRE _and_ BERTRAND, _who are at table_, _L._) MACAIRE (_drinking_). Vinegar, by the supreme Jove! BERTRAND. Sold again! MACAIRE. Now, Bertrand, mark me. (_Before the servants he exchanges the bottle for the one in front of_ DUMONT’S _place at the head of the other table_.) Was it well done? BERTRAND. Immense. MACAIRE (_emptying his glass into_ BERTRAND’S). There, Bertrand, you may finish that. Ha! music? SCENE VII