THE MOTHER _seems crushed and terrified as if by an intolerable weight of shame and abasement. She is dressed in modest black and wears a thick widow's veil of crêpe. When she lifts this, she reveals a wax-like face. She always keeps her eyes downcast._ THE STEP-DAUGHTER, _is dashing, almost impudent, beautiful. She wears mourning too, but with great elegance. She shows contempt for the timid half-frightened manner of the wretched_ BOY (14 _years old, and also dressed in black_); on the other hand, she displays a lively tenderness for her _little sister_, THE CHILD _(about four), who is dressed in white, with a black silk sash at the waist_. THE SON (22) _tall, severe in his attitude of contempt for_ THE FATHER, _supercilious and indifferent to the_ MOTHER. _He looks as if he had come on the stage against his will_. DOOR-KEEPER (_cap in hand_). Excuse me, sir.... THE MANAGER (_rudely_). Eh? What is it? DOOR-KEEPER (_timidly_). These people are asking for you, sir. THE MANAGER (_furious_). I am rehearsing, and you know perfectly well no one's allowed to come in during rehearsals! (_Turning to the Characters_): Who are you, please? What do you want? THE FATHER (_coming forward a little, followed by the others who seem embarrassed_). As a matter of fact ... we have come here in search of an author.... THE MANAGER (_half angry, half amazed_). An author? What author? THE FATHER. Any author, sir. THE MANAGER. But there's no author here. We are not rehearsing a new piece. THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_vivaciously_). So much the better, so much the better! We can be your new piece. AN ACTOR (_coming forward from the others_). Oh, do you hear that? THE FATHER (_to Step-Daughter_). Yes, but if the author isn't here ... (_To Manager_) ... unless you would be willing.... THE MANAGER. You are trying to be funny. THE FATHER. No, for Heaven's sake, what are you saying? We bring you a drama, sir. THE STEP-DAUGHTER. We may be your fortune. THE MANAGER. Will you oblige me by going away? We haven't time to waste with mad people. THE FATHER (_mellifluously_). Oh sir, you know well that life is full of infinite absurdities, which, strangely enough, do not even need to appear plausible, since they are true. THE MANAGER. What the devil is he talking about? THE FATHER. I say that to reverse the ordinary process may well be considered a madness: that is, to create credible situations, in order that they may appear true. But permit me to observe that if this be madness, it is the sole _raison d'être_ of your profession, gentlemen. (_The actors look hurt and perplexed_). THE MANAGER (_getting up and looking at him_). So our profession seems to you one worthy of madmen then?