MAIRAUT. Monsieur Dupont! MME. MAIRAUT. You hold your tongue. Leave me to deal with him. MME. DUPONT. My dear— DUPONT. Be silent. Selfish or stupid? Which? [_Madame Mairaut shrugs her shoulders_]. Is Uncle Maréchal a man with money to leave, or is he not? MME. MAIRAUT [_decisively, after a moment’s thought_] He is _not_! DUPONT [_staggered_] He is not? But— MME. MAIRAUT. I quite understand, and you have your answer. He is not. DUPONT. He has not two hundred thousand francs? MME. MAIRAUT. He had them. Somebody else has them now. He has lost them. DUPONT. Lost them! If this is true— MME. MAIRAUT. That is why we don’t waste our time in going to see him. DUPONT. But—I don’t understand. [_A pause. He controls himself_]. How long ago did this happen? MME. MAIRAUT. More than six months ago. DUPONT. More than six months? Then you knew. MME. MAIRAUT. Yes, we knew. DUPONT. And you never told me. MME. MAIRAUT. You didn’t ask us. DUPONT. You ought to have informed me. It was dishonest. MME. MAIRAUT. Monsieur! DUPONT. You have swindled me. MME. MAIRAUT. Swindled! DUPONT. Yes. Swindled. MME. MAIRAUT. Nonsense. We are as well off as you are, I hope. Our bank is worth as much as your printing business. DUPONT. Most people wouldn’t say so. As to that, by the way, I should like to ask you— MME. MAIRAUT. No, monsieur. I have nothing further to say to you. And I am now going to inform my son how you have treated us. MME. DUPONT. Madame Mairaut! MME. MAIRAUT. Are you coming, Alfred? _Mairaut makes a gesture of regret and distress behind his wife’s back, and then follows her out._ MME. DUPONT. This is terrible. DUPONT. Eh! [_Pulling himself together_]. No! On reflection I’m inclined to think it’s the best thing that could have happened. I regret nothing. Rather the contrary. MME. DUPONT. I don’t understand. DUPONT. Naturally! You don’t understand. You will later. [_Julie comes in_]. We were just speaking of you. I hear your husband’s business is shaky. Is it? JULIE. I know nothing about it. DUPONT. You know, I suppose, whether it is true that he got let in by the Bourdin failure? JULIE. No. DUPONT. Good Heavens! What on earth do you talk about, at meals, and so on? JULIE. We don’t talk at all. DUPONT. Still you must have noticed whether he was anxious and preoccupied, or whether he was in his usual spirits. JULIE. I’ve no idea what his usual spirits are. I’ve only known him six months. DUPONT. You’d better ask him how things are going at once. JULIE. What’s the good? DUPONT. You must ask him. You will have children some day, I suppose? JULIE [_with a sigh_] If it weren’t for that, I think I should go and drown myself. DUPONT. That would be absurd. But we needn’t discuss that now. Only, if you don’t wish your children to be beggars, keep an eye on your husband’s business affairs. JULIE. Very well. I will. _Antonin comes in._