Nonsense! nonsense! Do it yourselves! I'm not going to mix myself up in this mess. (_Turning to the Child and coming quickly with her on to the stage_): Come on, Rosetta, let's run! (THE BOY _follows them slowly, remaining a little behind and seeming perplexed_). THE STEP-DAUGHTER. (_Stops, bends over the Child and takes the latter's face between her hands_). My little darling! You're frightened, aren't you? You don't know where we are, do you? (_Pretending to reply to a question of the Child_): What is the stage? It's a place, baby, you know, where people play at being serious, a place where they act comedies. We've got to act a comedy now, dead serious, you know; and you're in it also, little one. (_Embraces her, pressing the little head to her breast, and rocking the child for a moment_). Oh darling, darling, what a horrid comedy you've got to play! What a wretched part they've found for you! A garden ... a fountain ... look ... just suppose, kiddie, it's here. Where, you say? Why, right here in the middle. It's all pretence you know. That's the trouble, my pet: it's all make-believe here. It's better to imagine it though, because if they fix it up for you, it'll only be painted cardboard, painted cardboard for the rockery, the water, the plants.... Ah, but I think a baby like this one would sooner have a make-believe fountain than a real one, so she could play with it. What a joke it'll be for the others! But for you, alas! not quite such a joke: you who are real, baby dear, and really play by a real fountain this big and green and beautiful, with ever so many bamboos around it that are reflected in the water, and a whole lot of little ducks swimming about.... No, Rosetta, no, your mother doesn't bother about you on account of that wretch of a son there. I'm in the devil of a temper, and as for that lad.... (_Seizes Boy by the arm to force him to take one of his hands out of his pockets_). What have you got there? What are you hiding? (_Pulls his hand out of his pocket, looks into it and catches the glint of a revolver_). Ah! where did you get this? (THE BOY, _very pale in the face, looks at her, but does not answer_). Idiot! If I'd been in your place, instead of killing myself, I'd have shot one of those two, or both of them: father and son. (THE FATHER _enters from the office, all excited from his work_. THE MANAGER _follows him_). THE FATHER. Come on, come on dear! Come here for a minute! We've arranged everything. It's all fixed up. THE MANAGER (_also excited_). If you please, young lady, there are one or two points to settle still. Will you come along? THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_following him towards the office_). Ouff! what's the good, if you've arranged everything.