THE FATHER. Very good, sir! But a fact is like a sack which won't stand up when it is empty. In order that it may stand up, one has to put into it the reason and sentiment which have caused it to exist. I couldn't possibly know that after the death of that man, they had decided to return here, that they were in misery, and that she (_pointing to the Mother_) had gone to work as a modiste, and at a shop of the type of that of Madame Pace. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. A real high-class modiste, you must know, gentlemen. In appearance, she works for the leaders of the best society; but she arranges matters so that these elegant ladies serve her purpose ... without prejudice to other ladies who are ... well ... only so so. THE MOTHER. You will believe me, gentlemen, that it never entered my mind that the old hag offered me work because she had her eye on my daughter. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Poor mamma! Do you know, sir, what that woman did when I brought her back the work my mother had finished? She would point out to me that I had torn one of my frocks, and she would give it back to my mother to mend. It was I who paid for it, always I; while this poor creature here believed she was sacrificing herself for me and these two children here, sitting up at night sewing Madame Pace's robes. THE MANAGER. And one day you met there.... THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Him, him. Yes sir, an old client. There's a scene for you to play! Superb! THE FATHER. She, the Mother arrived just then.... THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_treacherously_). Almost in time! THE FATHER (_crying out_). No, in time! in time! Fortunately I recognized her ... in time. And I took them back home with me to my house. You can imagine now her position and mine: she, as you see her; and I who cannot look her in the face. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Absurd! How can I possibly be expected--after that--to be a modest young miss, a fit person to go with his confounded aspirations for "a solid moral sanity"?