COUNT: [Stirs, rubs his eyes, sits up quickly, looks about him] Where am I? . . . Oh yes. . . . So I did go home with the woman after all. . . . [Gets up, sees her bed.] There she lies. . . . God, the things that can happen to a man of my age. I haven't the faintest idea, did they carry me up here, I wonder? No. . . . I remember seeing -- I came into the room . . . yes . . . I was still awake then, or had just waked up . . . or . . . is it just that this room reminds me of something? . . . 'pon my soul, yes. . . . I did see it all yesterday. . . . [Looks at his watch.] Yesterday hell! . . . a few hours ago-- But I knew something was bound to happen. . . . I felt it coming. . . . When I began drinking yesterday I felt that . . . but what did happen, anyway? . . . Nothing, maybe. . . . Or did it . . . ? 'Pon my soul . . . since . . . well, for ten years this sort of thing hasn't happened to me, not knowing what. . . . Oh well, the whole point is that I was good and drunk. . . . If only I knew from when on. . . . I do remember perfectly well going into that dive with Louis . . . no, no . . . we left Sacher's together . . . and then, on the way over already. . . . Yes, that's right, I was riding in my car with Louis. . . . What's the use of racking my brains over it, anyway. What's the odds? . . . The main thing is to get out. [Stands up. The lamp shakes.] Oh! [Looks at the sleeping woman.] She sleeps soundly enough. I don't remember a damn thing -- but I'll leave some money on the night-table . . . and beat it. . . . [Stands looking at her for quite a while.] If one didn't know what she was . . . ! [Studies her closely.] I've seen a lot of women that didn't look as virtuous, even in their sleep. 'Pon my soul. . . . Louis would probably say I was philosophizing again, but it's perfectly true. Sleep seems to be a leveler too--like its venerable brother, Death. . . . Hm, I'd just like to know whether . . . no, I would have remembered that . . . no, no, I collapsed on the sofa right away . . . and nothing happened. . . . It's incredible how all women look alike sometimes . . . well, let's move along. [He starts to go.] Oh yes . . . [Takes out his wallet and extracts a bill from it just as the TART wakes up.]
TART: Well . . . who's here so early--? [Recognizes him.] Hello, kid!
COUNT: Good morning. Sleep well?
TART: [Stretching.] Aw, come here. Give us a kiss.
COUNT: [Bends over her, hesitates, draws back.] I was just going . . .
TART: Going?
COUNT: It's really high time I did.
TART: You're going away just like this?
COUNT: [Almost embarrassed.] Like this?
TART: Well, so long then, see you another time.
COUNT: Yes, and good luck to you. How about shaking hands? [TART holds out her hand from the covers. COUNT takes it and kisses it mechanically, notices the fact, laughs.] Just like a princess. As a matter of fact, when one only . . .
TART: Why do you look at me that way?
COUNT: When one only sees the head, as it is now . . . when they're just waking up everyone looks innocent, anyway . . . 'pon my soul, one could imagine oneself almost anywhere, if only it didn't stink of kerosene . . .
TART: Yes, that lamp's always on the blink.
COUNT: How old are you, anyway?
TART: Well, what do you think?
COUNT: Twenty-four.
TART: You don't say.
COUNT: Older than that?
TART: Going on twenty.
COUNT: And how long have you been . . .
TART: I've been in business for one year.
COUNT: You started early, alright.
TART: Better too soon than too late.
COUNT: [Sitting on the bed.] Tell me, are you really happy?
TART: What?
COUNT: I mean, are you getting along all right?
TART: Oh, I get along good enough.
COUNT: I see. But hasn't it ever occurred to you that you might be doing something else?
TART: What else could I be doing?
COUNT: Well . . . you're really a pretty girl, you know. You could have a lover, for instance.
TART: What makes you think I haven't got one?
COUNT: Yes, yes, I know--but I mean one man--one--who'd take care of you so that you wouldn't have to go with just any one.
TART: I don't go with just any one. Thank God I don't have to, I pick 'em out alright! [COUNT looks around the room. She notices it.] Next month we're moving downtown, where it's sweller.
COUNT: We? Who's we?
TART: Well, the Madam and the other girls who live here.
COUNT: There are still others here--?
TART: Right next door . . . don't you hear? . . . that's Milly, she was in the Café too.
COUNT: Somebody's snoring there.
TART: That's Milly, alright, she snores all day till ten at night, an' then she gets up and goes to the Café.
COUNT: But that's a horrible life.
TART: Sure it is. It makes the Madam sore, too. I'm always on the street by twelve noon, myself.
COUNT: What do you do on the street at twelve?
TART: What do you think I do? Work my beat.
COUNT: Oh yes . . . of course . . . [Stands up, takes out his wallet, puts a bill on her night-table.] Goodbye!
TART: Going already? . . . So long . . . Come back soon. [Turns on her side.]
COUNT: [Stops again.] Tell me . . . I suppose everything's about the same to you, isn't it?
TART: What?
COUNT: I mean, you don't get any pleasure out of it any more, do you?
TART: [Yawning.] God, I'm sleepy.
COUNT: It's all the same to you whether a man's young or old, whether he . . .
TART: What are you talking about?
COUNT: Well . . . [Suddenly struck by something.] 'Pon my soul, now I know whom you remind me of, it's . . .
TART: Do I look like somebody?
COUNT: Unbelievable, unbelievable, but please, just for a minute, don't speak at all, please . . . [Looks at her.] Exactly the same face, exactly the same face. [Kisses her suddenly on the eyes.]
TART: Well . . .
COUNT: 'Pon my soul, it's too bad that you're . . . nothing but a . . . You could make your fortune!
TART: You're just like Franz.
COUNT: Who's Franz?
TART: He's the waiter at our Café . . .
COUNT: How am I just like Franz?
TART: He's always saying I could make my fortune, too, and that I oughta marry him.
COUNT: Why don't you?
TART: Thank you for nothing! . . . I don't want to marry, not on your life, not for no price. Maybe later on.
COUNT: The eyes . . . the identical eyes . . . Louis would most certainly call me an idiot, but I must kiss your eyes once more . . . there . . . and now, so long, I'm off.
TART: So long . . .
COUNT: [At the door.] By the way . . . aren't you at all surprised that . . .
TART: That what?
COUNT: That I don't want anything from you?
TART: Lots of men don't feel like it in the morning.
COUNT: Oh well . . . [To himself.] stupid of me to expect her to feel surprised . . . Well, so long . . . [Stands at the door.] It's really very annoying, all this. I know perfectly well that it's only a question of money to women like that . . . but why say "women like that" . . . at least she makes no bones about it, that's something to be thankful for . . . Say . . . I'll be in to see you soon.
TART: [With her eyes closed.] Good.
COUNT: When are you likely to be at home?
TART: I'm always home. All you got to do is ask for Leocadia.
COUNT: Leocadia . . . Fine . . . Well, good luck to you. [At the door.] The wine's still got me. Really, that beats everything . . . I come to a female like this and don't do anything but kiss her eyes, because she reminds me of somebody . . . [Turns to her.] Tell me, Leocadia, does that happen to you often, a man going away like this?
TART: Like what?
COUNT: The way I'm going . . .
TART: Early, you mean?
COUNT: No . . . I mean, men being with you--and not wanting anything from you?
TART: No, it's never happened to me before.
COUNT: Well, what do you make of it? Do you think I don't like you?
TART: Why shouldn't you like me? You liked me good enough last night.
COUNT: I like you now too.
TART: But you liked me better in the night?
COUNT: What makes you think that?
TART: What a silly thing to ask!
COUNT: Last night . . . but see here, didn't I tumble right onto the sofa?
TART: Sure . . . we both did, together.
COUNT: Together?
TART: Yes, don't you remember?
COUNT: I . . . we were . . . yes . . .
TART: But you went to sleep right off.
COUNT: Right off . . . I see . . . so that was it!
TART: Yes, sonny. You must have been good and pickled not to remember that.
COUNT: I see . . . and yet . . . there is a remote resemblance . . . So long . . . [Listens.] What's that noise?
TART: The maid's up already. You might give her something when you go out. The street door is open, too, so that'll save you the janitor's tip.
COUNT: Yes. [In the hall.] Well . . . it would have been beautiful if I'd only kissed her eyes. That would have been an adventure, almost . . . but I guess it wasn't to be . . . [The maid opens the door, stands there.] Ah--here, take this . . . Good night.
MAID: Good morning.
COUNT: Oh yes, of course . . . Good morning . . . good morning.
