ANTONIN. To celebrate our reconciliation I will give a grand dinner. I will invite the Pouchelets, the Rambourgs, Lignol— JULIE [_sadly, and with meaning_] Exactly—Lignol. DUPONT. Ah, my children, everything comes right when once you make up your mind to be like the rest of the world. JULIE [_slowly_] Yes: like the rest of the world. I dreamed of something better. But it seems it was impossible. Damaged Goods [Les Avariés] Translated by John Pollock _Before the play begins the manager appears upon the stage and says:—_ Ladies and gentlemen, I beg leave to inform you, on behalf of the author and of the management, that the object of this play is a study of the disease of syphilis in its bearing on marriage. It contains no scene to provoke scandal or arouse disgust, nor is there in it any obscene word; and it may be witnessed by everyone, unless we must believe that folly and ignorance are necessary conditions of female virtue. ACT I _The doctor’s consulting room. To the right a large stained glass window representing a religious subject. In front of this, on pedestals, bronzes and statues. Parallel to it a large Louis XIV writing table littered with papers and statuettes. Between the desk and the window the doctor’s chair. On the other side an armchair nearly facing the footlights and a stool. To the left the entrance door, which, when opened, reveals a corridor lined with tapestries, statues, and paintings. Beyond the door a large glass bookcase, above which hang portraits of Wallace, Dupuytren, and Ricord. Busts of celebrated physicians. A small table and two chairs. At the back a small door. The room is sumptuously furnished and literally encumbered with works of art._ _George Dupont, in great distress and ill at ease, enters by the door at the back, takes his stick, gloves, and hat from the stool, and sits down on the sofa before the writing table. He is a big fellow of twentysix, with large, round eyes, and simple, but not ludicrous appearance. A heavy sigh escapes him. The doctor, a man of forty, with the ribbon of the Legion of Honor in the buttonhole of his frock coat, follows and takes his seat. He gives the impression of a man of strength and intellect._ GEORGE. Well, doctor? DOCTOR. Well! There is no doubt about your case. GEORGE [_wiping his forehead_] No doubt—How do you mean no doubt? DOCTOR. I mean it in the bad sense. [_He writes. George turns pale, and stays silent for a moment in terror. He sighs again_]. Come, come, you must have thought as much. GEORGE. No, no. DOCTOR. All the same! GEORGE [_utterly prostrated_] Good God! DOCTOR [_stops writing and observes him_] Don’t be frightened. Out of every seven men you meet in the street, or in society, or at the theatre, there is at least one who is or has been in your condition. One in seven, fifteen per cent. GEORGE [_quietly, as if to himself_] Anyhow, I know what to do.