MME. DUPONT [_to Caroline_] Well, Caroline, what are you doing there with your mouth open? CAROLINE. I was listening. MME. DUPONT. Have you finished your painting? CAROLINE. No. I still have six of the Marie Antoinette figures to do, and a dozen china Cupids to finish. JULIE. How funny it is to think of Caro painting Cupids! CAROLINE. Why? MME. DUPONT [_to Caroline_] And you have to send all those off by twelve o’clock to-morrow? CAROLINE. Yes. MME. DUPONT. You will never have them ready. CAROLINE. I shall manage. MME. DUPONT. You might do a little at them now, before dinner, instead of sitting there twiddling your fingers. CAROLINE. I shall get up early to-morrow. MME. DUPONT. Even if you _do_ get up early— CAROLINE. I shall begin at six, as soon as it is light. MME. DUPONT. Still, you might do some work on them now. CAROLINE. I would rather not. MME. DUPONT. Because it’s Sunday, I suppose; and one mustn’t work on Sunday. CAROLINE. Yes. [_Pause_] Why should _you_ mind, mother, if I— MME. DUPONT. I? Not the least in the world. Do as you please. You are old enough to decide for yourself. JULIE [_who has been reading one of the papers_] Is Courthezon down in the office? I should like the next part of this. MME. DUPONT. You know quite well your father doesn’t like you to read the proofs of the stories he has to print. JULIE. I have no others. Listen to this: isn’t it too bad to have to stop there? [_Reads_] ‘Solange was still in Robert’s arms. At this moment the Count entered, menacing, terrible, his revolver in his hand.’ I do so want to know what happened next! CAROLINE. The Count will kill them, of course. It is his right. JULIE. I wonder. CAROLINE. According to law. JULIE. That’s no reason. I want to read over again where Robert comes in. It’s lovely. And the meeting with Solange in Italy, one evening in May. Where is it? Ah, here! [_Reads_] ‘Under the deep blue of the sky, picked out by stars, by the shore of the calm sea that a perfumed breeze just ruffled, and in which were reflected with the stars above the many distant lights of Mentone and of Monte Carlo—’ MME. DUPONT [_smiling_] And your father imagines he has cured you of all such foolishness! JULIE. I am doing no harm. MME. DUPONT. No matter. I would rather you didn’t read any more novels. JULIE. Why? Berthe Paillant reads all the stories that come out, and she’s younger than I am. MME. DUPONT. Berthe Paillant is married. JULIE. There it is! If one is not to remain a child to the end of one’s days one must marry. I am twenty-four, and I may’nt read the books which Berthe can read at eighteen. MME. DUPONT. There’s my thread broken again. I believe you bought it at Lagnier’s, Caroline. CAROLINE. Yes. MME. DUPONT. Why didn’t you go to Laurent’s? CAROLINE. I thought we ought to deal with those who believe as we do. MME. DUPONT. If only one could find a good Catholic who sold good wool! CAROLINE. There isn’t one in the town.