_Dr. Desmarets._ Hallo! [_She starts._] What are you at there? _Mad. V._ Me, sir? I was just--I was just-- _Des._ Poking your nose into that drawer--that what you call just? _Mad. V._ I was dusting and putting the things in order, sir. _Des._ I'll tell you what, Madame V., you're an extraordinary woman. Yesterday, when I called, you were dusting--half-an-hour ago when I called, you were dusting--and now, when I call again, you're dusting. Where the devil you find so much dust to dust, _I_ can't think. _Mad. V._ Ah, sir, look into this drawer. _Des._ What for? _Mad. V._ Is it not the place where, if one had money, one would naturally keep it? _Des._ I suppose so. What of that? _Mad. V._ See, sir, it is empty. _Des._ What's that to me? _Mad. V._ And his purse, also. _Des._ What's that to you? [_Goes up and puts hat on table._ _Mad. V._ [_Aside._] I dare not tell him that Manuel is without a meal--starving--I should never be forgiven. His _pride_ would be wounded, and nothing could excuse that. _Des._ Well, what are you cogitating about? Looking for something to dust? _Mad. V._ I'm thinking of the Marquis, sir. _Des._ Well, what of him? _Mad. V._ Is it not dreadful? Brought up as he has been--surrounded by every luxury--and now reduced to want even. Oh! it is too hard--too hard! _Des._ Well, it's his own fault, isn't it? There was enough left from the wreck of his father's property, to give him a sort of a living, and he must needs go and settle it all upon his little sister Helen. _Mad. V._ And for what? To give her the education befitting her rank. _Des._ Fudge! _Mad. V._ Doctor Desmarets, your're very unfeeling. _Des._ Oh, of course, of course. I give him good advice, he rejects it. I withdraw my sympathy, and then I'm unfeeling. If he can't manage better with the little that's left him, egad! he may think himself lucky that he can get his daily meals. _Mad. V._ Sir, he can't even--[_Aside._] Oh, if I dared-- _Des._ Can't even what? Send for his coupe, I suppose, or drink Chateau margaux--terrible hardships, truly. When there's nothing else in a man's pocket, he had better put his pride there, and button it up tight. _Mad. V._ Some day, sir, we shall find that he has taken poison, or cut his throat. _Des._ Ah! and then there'll be nothing to dust. _Mad. V._ Monsieur, I repeat it--you're unfeeling. But I, who loved and served his dear mother, whom he so much resembles-- _Des._ Not a bit--hasn't a look of her. The father, the father all over. _Mad. V._ Of course. So you always say, and everybody knows why. You loved the poor Marchioness, offered her your hand, and she preferred the Marquis. _Des._ Madame! _Mad. V._ I don't care. I _will_ speak my mind. And because she refused you, you have no regard for her son. _Des._ Madame! _Mad. V._ But if he has his father's face, he has his mother's heart. _Des._ Much you know about it.