MACAIRE. My dear sir, my friend and I, I regret to say, have an appointment in Lyons, or I could spend my life in this society. Charge your glasses: one hour to madness and to joy! What is to-morrow? the enemy of to-day. Wine? the bath of life. One moment: I find I have forgotten my watch. (_He makes for the door._) BRIGADIER. Halt! MACAIRE. Sir, what is this jest? BRIGADIER. Sentry at the door. Your passports. MACAIRE. My good man, with all the pleasure in life. (_Gives papers. The BRIGADIER puts on spectacles and examines them._) BERTRAND (_rising and passing round to MACAIRE'S other side_). It's life and death: they must soon find it. MACAIRE (_aside_). Don't I know? My heart's like fire in my body. BRIGADIER. Your name is? MACAIRE. It is; one's name is not unknown. BRIGADIER. Justice exacts your name. MACAIRE. Henri-Frederic de Latour de Main de la Tonnerre de Brest. BRIGADIER. Your profession? MACAIRE. Gentleman. BRIGADIER. No, but what is your trade? MACAIRE. I am an analytical chemist. BRIGADIER. Justice is inscrutable. Your papers are in order. (_To BERTRAND._) Now, sir, and yours? BERTRAND. I feel kind of ill. MACAIRE. Bertrand, this gentleman addresses you. He is not one of us; in other scenes, in the gay and giddy world of fashion, one is his superior. But to-day he represents the majesty of law; and as a citizen it is one's pride to do him honour. BRIGADIER. Those are my sentiments. BERTRAND. I beg your pardon, I----(_Gives papers._) BRIGADIER. Your name? BERTRAND. Napoleon. BRIGADIER. What? In your passport it is written Bertrand. BERTRAND. It's this way: I was born Bertrand, and then I took the name of Napoleon, and I mostly always call myself either Napoleon or Bertrand. BRIGADIER. The truth is always best. Your profession? BERTRAND. I am an orphan. BRIGADIER. What the devil! (_To MACAIRE._) Is your friend an idiot? MACAIRE. Pardon me, he is a poet. BRIGADIER. Poetry is a great hindrance to the ends of justice. Well, take your papers. MACAIRE. Then we may go? SCENE IV _To these, CHARLES, who is seen on the gallery going to the door of Number Thirteen. Afterwards all the characters but the NOTARY and the MARQUIS._ BRIGADIER. One glass more. (_BERTRAND touches MACAIRE, and points to CHARLES, who enters Number Thirteen._) MACAIRE. No more, no more, no more. BRIGADIER (_rising and taking MACAIRE by the arm_). I stipulate. MACAIRE. Engagement in Turin! BRIGADIER. Turin? MACAIRE. Lyons, Lyons! BERTRAND. For God's sake ... BRIGADIER. Well, good-bye! MACAIRE. Good-bye, good---- CHARLES (_from within_). Murder! Help! (_Appearing._) Help here! The Marquis is murdered. BRIGADIER. Stand to the door. A man up there. (_A GENDARME hurries up staircase into Number Thirteen, CHARLES following him. Enter on both sides of gallery the remaining characters of the piece, except the NOTARY and the MARQUIS._) MACAIRE. Bitten, by God! \ > _Aside._ BERTRAND. Lost! /