YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Goes to her, taking her gloved hand and kissing it. In a low voice.] Thank you.
MARRIED LADY: Alfred--Alfred!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Come, my dear . . . come, Emma . . .
MARRIED LADY: Let me alone a moment--please . . . Please, Alfred! [She is still standing at the door. He faces her, holding her hand.] Where am I? What place is this?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: My rooms.
MARRIED LADY: This is a horrible house, Alfred.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Why? It's a highly respectable house.
MARRIED LADY: I met two men on the stairs.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Friends?
MARRIED LADY: I don't know. Maybe.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Excuse me, my dear--but surely you know who your friends are.
MARRIED LADY: But I couldn't see a thing.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, even if they were your best friends they couldn't have recognized you. Even I . . . if I didn't know it was you . . . that veil--
MARRIED LADY: There are two of them.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Aren't you going to come a little nearer? . . . At least you could take you hat off!
MARRIED LADY: Are you mad, Alfred? I told you: five minutes . . . No, not a minute more . . . I swear--
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, then, the veil--
MARRIED: There are two.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Alright, both veils--you could let me see you, at least.
MARRIED LADY: Do you really love me, Alfred?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Deeply hurt.] Emma--how can you ask . . .
MARRIED LADY: It's so hot here.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: You've got your fur coat on--you'll surely catch cold.
MARRIED LADY: [Finally walking into the room, sinking into the armchair.] I'm dead tired.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Allow me. [Takes off her veils, takes the pin out of her hat, puts hat, pin and veils aside. MARRIED LADY does not demur. He stands in front of her, shaking his head.]
MARRIED LADY: What's the matter?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: You've never looked so beautiful.
MARRIED LADY: Really?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Alone . . . alone with you--Emma-- [He sinks on his knees by the armchair, takes both her hands and covers them with kisses.]
MARRIED LADY: Now--now you must let me go again. I've done what you wanted me to. [YOUNG GENTLEMAN lets his head sink on her lap.] You promised me you'd be good.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Yes.
MARRIED LADY: It's suffocating in this room.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Standing up.] You still have your coat on.
MARRIED LADY: Put it next to my hat. [YOUNG GENTLEMAN takes her coat off and lays it on the sofa.] And now--adieu--
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Emma! Emma!
MARRIED LADY: The five minutes were up long ago.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Not even one!
MARRIED LADY: Alfred, tell me exactly what time it is.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: It's exactly quarter past six.
MARRIED LADY: I should have been at my sister's long ago.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Your sister can see you often . . .
MARRIED LADY: Oh God, Alfred, why have you made me do this?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Because I--adore you, Emma.
MARRIED LADY: How many others have you said that to?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Since I've known you--no one.
MARRIED LADY: What a frivolous creature I am! If anyone had told me . . . a week ago . . . or even yesterday . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: And day before yesterday you'd already promised me . . .
MARRIED LADY: You tormented me so. But I didn't want to do it. God is my witness--I didn't want to do it . . . Yesterday I was absolutely determined . . . Do you know, I even wrote you a long letter last night!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I didn't receive any.
MARRIED LADY: I tore it up. Oh, I should have sent you that letter!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I'm glad you didn't.
MARRIED LADY: Oh no, it's disgraceful . . . of me. I can't make myself out. Goodbye, Alfred, let me go. [YOUNG GENTLEMAN takes her in his arms and covers her face with passionate kisses.] Is this how you keep your promise? . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: One more kiss--just one.
MARRIED LADY: The last one. [He kisses her, she responds; their lips are joined for a long time.]
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Shall I tell you something, Emma? Now I know what happiness is, for the first time. [MARRIED LADY sinks back into the armchair. He sits on the arm, his arm lightly encircling her back.] . . . or rather, I know now what happiness might be. [MARRIED LADY sighs deeply. He kisses her again.]
MARRIED LADY: Alfred, Alfred, what are you doing to me?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: It's not all bad here, is it, Emma? . . . And we're so safe here. After all, it's a thousand times nicer than those meetings outside.
MARRIED LADY: Oh, don't remind me of them.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: But I shall always think of them with great delight. Every minute I'm allowed by your side is a sweet memory to me.
MARRIED LADY: Do you remember the Charity Ball?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Do I remember it! Why, I was sitting near you all during supper, right near you. Your husband had champagne . . . [MARRIED LADY looks at him reproachfully.] I was only going to speak about the champagne. By the way, Emma, wouldn't you like a glass of Cognac?
MARRIED LADY: Just a drop, but first give me a glass of water.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Certainly . . . where is that . . . Oh yes, . . . [He draws aside the curtains and goes into the bedroom, She looks after him. YOUNG GENTLEMAN comes back with a carafe of water and two glasses.]
MARRIED LADY: Where were you?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: In the . . . next room. [Pours a glass of water.]
MARRIED LADY: I'm going to ask you something, Alfred--and you've got to swear you'll answer the truth.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I swear--
MARRIED LADY: Has any other woman ever been in these rooms?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: But, Emma--this house was built twenty years ago!
MARRIED LADY: You know perfectly well what I mean, Alfred . . . With you! In your rooms!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Here--with me--Emma? Really, it isn't very nice of you to think of such things.
MARRIED LADY: Oh, so you have . . . how shall I say . . . No, I'd rather not ask you. It's better not to. It's my fault, anyway. One pays for everything.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: What do you mean? What's the matter? Who pays for what?
MARRIED LADY: No, no, no, I mustn't return to consciousness . . . otherwise I'd die of shame.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Shaking his head sadly, the water carafe in his hand.] Emma, if you only knew how you are hurting me. [MARRIED LADY pours herself a glass of Cognac.] I want to tell you something, Emma. If you are ashamed to be here--if I mean nothing to you--if you don't feel that you mean all the bliss in the world to me--then you'd better go.
MARRIED LADY: Yes--I mean to.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Taking her hand.] But if you'd only realize that I can't live without you, that the mere kissing of your hand means more to me than all the caresses of all the women in the world . . . Emma, I'm not like the other young men who can play at love--perhaps I'm too naive . . .
MARRIED LADY: But suppose you really are like other men?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Then you wouldn't be here now--because you're not like other women.
MARRIED LADY: How did you know that?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Drawing her onto the sofa, sitting next to her.] I've thought a great deal about you. I know that you're unhappy.
MARRIED LADY: [Pleased.] Yes.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Life is so empty, so meaningless--and then--so short--so appallingly short! There's only one happiness . . . to find someone who loves you-- [MARRIED LADY takes a candied pear from the table and puts it in her mouth.] Give me half! [She gives it to him with her lips.]
MARRIED LADY: [Takes the YOUNG GENTLEMAN'S hands which have begun to stray.] What are you doing, Alfred? . . . What about your promise?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Swallowing the pear, then bolder.] Life is so short.
MARRIED LADY: [Weakly.] But surely that's no reason--
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Mechanically.] Oh yes.
MARRIED LADY: [Weaker still.] Really, Alfred, you did promise . . . be good . . . And it's so light . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh come, come . . . my only one, my darling . . . [He lifts her up from the sofa.]
MARRIED LADY: What are you doing?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: It's not at all light in there.
MARRIED LADY: Is there another room?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Drawing her after him.] A charming one . . . and quite dark.
MARRIED LADY: I think we'd better stay here. [YOUNG GENTLEMAN, already leading her beyond the curtains and into the bedroom, unfastens her bodice.] You're so . . . Heavens, what are you doing to me, Alfred!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I adore you, Emma!
MARRIED LADY: But wait--wait a minute . . . [Weakly.] Go . . . I'll call you.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Let me--let you-- [Fussed.] --I mean, can't I--help you--
MARRIED LADY: You're tearing everything.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: You don't wear corsets?
MARRIED LADY: I never wear corsets. Neither does Ida Rubinstein. But you might unbutton my shoes. [YOUNG GENTLEMAN unbuttons her shoes, kisses her feet. She slips into bed.] Oh, I'm cold.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: You'll soon be warm.
MARRIED LADY: [Laughing softly.] Think so!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Vaguely annoyed, to himself.] She needn't have said that. [Undresses in the dark.]
MARRIED LADY: [Tenderly.] Come, come, come.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Now in a better mood.] Right away--
MARRIED LADY: It smells so of violets here.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: That's you yourself . . . Yes [To her.] you yourself.
MARRIED LADY: Alfred . . . Alfred!!!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Emma . . .
* * *
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: It's obvious that I love you too much . . . yes . . . beyond all reason.
MARRIED LADY: . . . . . . . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: For days I've been going about like mad. I had a feeling this would happen.
MARRIED LADY: Don't worry about it.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh, of course not. After all, it's only natural when . . .
MARRIED LADY: Don't . . . don't . . . You're just nervous. Calm yourself . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Do you know Stendhal?
MARRIED LADY: Stendhal?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: The Psychology of Love.
MARRIED LADY: No, why do you ask me?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: There's a story in it that's very significant.
MARRIED LADY: What kind of story?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, there's a gathering of cavalry officers--
MARRIED LADY: Yes . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: And they're telling about their love affairs. And every one of them says that when they were with the woman they loved most deeply, you know, most passionately . . . well, that she--that he--well, to make a long story short, that in spite of loving this woman so, the same thing happened as with me, just now.
MARRIED LADY: Yes.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: That's very characteristic.
MARRIED LADY: Yes.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: That's not the end of it yet. One of them claims that it's never happened to him in his whole life, but Stendhal remarks that he was a notorious liar.
MARRIED LADY: I see.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Even so, it depresses one, in spite of its unimportance-- That's the stupid part of it.
MARRIED LADY: Of course. Anyway, you know, you did promise to be good.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Now don't laugh, that doesn't help.
MARRIED LADY: But I'm not laughing. That Stendhal thing is very interesting. Although I always thought that only older men . . . or very . . . you know, people who've indulged in excesses . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: What an idea! That has absolutely nothing to do with it. But I forgot to tell you the best of Stendhal's stories. One of those cavalry officers actually said that he'd spent three nights, or even six, with the woman he had passionately desired . . . longed for, you know--for weeks--and all they did on every one of those nights together was to weep for joy . . . both of them . . .
MARRIED LADY: Both?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Yes. Does that surprise you? It seems perfectly comprehensible to me--especially when one's in love.
MARRIED LADY: But surely, there must be many who don't weep.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Nervously.] Certainly . . . and that was an exceptional case, of course.
MARRIED LADY: Oh, I thought Stendhal said that all cavalry officers weep on such occasions.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Now you're making fun again.
MARRIED LADY: Not at all! Don't be childish, Alfred!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, it does get on one's nerves . . . Besides, I have a feeling that you keep thinking about it all the time. That upsets me a lot.
MARRIED LADY: I'm not thinking of it at all.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: If only I could be convinced of your love.
MARRIED LADY: Do you still demand proofs?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: There you are--always joking.
MARRIED LADY: How so? Come, put your handsome head here.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Ah, that feels good.
MARRIED LADY: Do you love me? But you don't need to cry too, do you?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Drawing away from her, highly irritated.] There you are again, the same old thing. I begged you so . . .
MARRIED LADY: But I only said that you needn't cry . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: You said: 'needn't cry too.'
MARRIED LADY: Darling, you're wrought up.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: I know I am.
MARRIED LADY: But you shouldn't be. In fact, I like us to be--well--sort of good friends . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: There you go again.
MARRIED LADY: But don't you remember? That was one of our first conversations together. We were going to be good friends; nothing more. Oh, that was beautiful . . . we were at my sister's, at that big ball in January, dancing the quadrille. . . . Good heavens, I should have gone long ago . . . my sister's expecting me . . . what shall I say to her . . . Adieu, Alfred--
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Emma! You're going to leave me like this?
MARRIED LADY: Yes!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Five minutes more . . .
MARRIED LADY: Very well. Five minutes more. But you must promise not to--to stir. Yes? . . . I'll just give you a goodbye kiss. No, no . . . quiet, I said . . . don't budge, or else I'll get right up, you darling . . . darling . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Emma . . . my adorable . . .
* * *
MARRIED LADY: My Alfred--
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh, it's heaven to be with you.
MARRIED LADY: But I really must go now.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Oh, let your sister wait.
MARRIED LADY: I've got to go home. It's much too late for my sister's now. What time is it, anyway?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: How should I know?
MARRIED LADY: You might just look at your watch.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: My watch is in my vest.
MARRIED LADY: Well, go get it.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Rises with a mighty effort.] Eight.
MARRIED LADY: [Quickly rising.] Good heavens . . . Quick, Alfred, hand me my stockings. What on earth shall I say? They're undoubtedly waiting for me at home . . . eight o' clock.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: When will I see you again?
MARRIED LADY: Never.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Emma! Then you don't love me anymore?
MARRIED LADY: That's just it. Give me my shoes.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Never again? Here are your shoes.
MARRIED LADY: There's a button-hook in my bag. Get it, please, quick . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Here's the button-hook.
MARRIED LADY: Alfred, this may ruin us both.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Very disagreeably affected.] How so?
MARRIED LADY: Well, what shall I say when he asks me where I've been?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: At your sister's.
MARRIED LADY: Yes, if I could lie.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, you'll just have to.
MARRIED LADY: And all this for such a man. Oh, come here . . . I want to give you just one more kiss. [She embraces him.] And now--leave me alone and go into the other room, I can't dress when you're around. [YOUNG GENTLEMAN goes into living-room, where he dresses, eats pastry and drinks a glass of Cognac. Presently she calls.] Alfred!
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Yes, sweet?
MARRIED LADY: After all it was much better that we didn't weep.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Not without pride, smiling.] How can you be so frivolous?
MARRIED LADY: What are we to do if we happen to meet accidentally at some party again?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Accidentally . . . But surely you'll be at the Lobheimers too tomorrow, won't you?
MARRIED LADY: Yes. And you too?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Certainly. May I have the first dance?
MARRIED LADY: Oh, I shan't go. What are you thinking of? Why I'd . . . [Walks into living room, fully dressed, takes a chocolate tart.] I'd sink right through the floor for shame.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, at the Lobheimers then, tomorrow. That's fine.
MARRIED LADY: No, no . . . I won't go . . . definitely not.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Well, then, day after tomorrow . . . here.
MARRIED LADY: Are you mad?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: At six . . .
MARRIED LADY: There are taxis at this corner, aren't there?
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Yes, all you want. All right then, day after tomorrow, here, at six. Say yes, my adorable sweet.
MARRIED LADY: . . . We'll talk it over tomorrow at the dance.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Embracing her.] My own beloved.
MARRIED LADY: Don't muss my hair again.
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: Tomorrow at the Lobheimers then, and the day after in my arms.
MARRIED LADY: Goodbye . . .
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Suddenly worried again.] But what will you say to him--now?
MARRIED LADY: Don't ask me . . . don't ask . . . it's all too horrible . . . Why do I love you so?--Adieu.--If I meet people on the stairs again I'll have heart failure.
[YOUNG GENTLEMAN kisses her hand once again. MARRIED LADY goes.]
YOUNG GENTLEMAN: [Alone, sits on the sofa, chuckles to himself and murmurs softly.] Well, at least I'm having an affair with a respectable woman.
