Cam. There is but one time at which you are welcome to come.

Var. [eagerly.] And when is that ?
Cam. When I am out.

Var. [less warmly.] But I may remain ? Cam. Until I come in. The fact is, I never return without finding you. Come, what have you to say to me?

Var. You must know, mademoiselle— Cam. Bah! always the same thing; you are very monotonous, Varville.

Var. Is it my fault that I love you?

Var. That, then, accounts for his attachment to her?

Nan. He indeed loves her very dearly, and wished at that time to adopt her as his daughter. But madame told the duke that she was well known as a poor sempstress, and that it would not befit him to raise her to such a station.

Var. What a noble trait in her character! Nan. Finding her obstinate, the duke established her in this house, and gave her a large income. But about a year ago he became offended at her unlimited system of flirtation and coquetry, to say nothing of her unparalleled extravagance. Var. Yes, I recollect, he cut down her income one-half, in the vain hope of rendering her economical; rather a bad plan, for she contracted debts, in consequence, amounting to fifty thousand francs.

Nan. Which you, monsieur, have very kindly offered to pay. Unfortunately, she would prefer that any one, rather than you, should pay them, because she does not like to be under any obligation to Monsieur de Varville.

Var. [bitterly.] Especially when the Count de Giray has made a similar offer.

Nan. You are very bitter about madame's coquetry! All I can say to you is, that the story of the duke is perfectly true; as to the Count de Giray, he is a friend.

Var. That is right, stick to the truth.

Nan. Oh! I'll repeat it, for that matter-he is a friend, monsieur. You are very much inclined to be slanderous, I fear. [Door-bell rings.] But some one rings this time it may be Camille. Shall I tell her all that you have hinted about her?, Var. [giving her some money.] No, Nanette, you need not trouble yourself to do that.

Nan. [takes the money.] You speak so ill of my mistress, that I don't think it's altogether right for me to take this money. [Going towards back.

Enter CAMILLE, in full dress, c.

Cam. Nanette, order supper-Helene and St. Frivole will soon be here; I met them at the opera. [To VARVILLE.] You here again? [Exit NANETTE. CAMILLE seats herself by the fire. Var. What can I do but wait upon you, mademoiselle?

Cam. I can do many other things besides receiving you.

Var. Until you shut the door in my face, I shall visit here.

maining here until I return home; but if, in addition to this privilege, you insist upon talking to me forever about your love, I shall be obliged to leave orders against your admittance.

Var. Nevertheless, last year at Bagniers, Camille, you gave me some cause for hope.

Cam. Ah! my excellent friend, at Bagniers I was sick and bored to death-anything or anybody was a relief. Here, at Paris, it is altogether a different affair; I am in health, and only bored when you are with me.

Var. I can understand this; when one is loved by the Duke de Muriac, and when one loves the Count de Giray—

Cam. [rising.] I am at liberty to love whomever I please; that is no one's business, less yours than any one else's-and if you have nothing but your love to talk of, allow me to inform you that that is the way to the door. [Points to the back. VARVILLE walks up and down.] You will not go? Var. No!

Cam. Then seat yourself at the piano and playit's your only redeeming quality.

[VARVILLE goes to the piano and sits. Enter NANETTE, C., with bouquet. Var. [at piano.] What shall I play? Cam. Whatever you like. [To NANETTE.] Have you ordered supper?

Nan. Yes, madame.

[VARVILLE plays. Cam. What are you playing, Varville? Var. A review from Rosellen.

Cam. It's very pretty.

Var. [still at piano.] Listen to me, Camille.
Cam. I prefer the music.

Var. [stops playing.] I have forty-five thousand francs a year.

Cam. And I one hundred. But don't stop play[Turns to NANETTE. Var. You will drive me mad, Camille.

ing.

[Plays louder. Cam. [to NANETTE.] Have you seen Babiliard? Nan. [R. C.] Yes, madame.

Cam. [c.] She will come this evening? Nan. Yes, madame. While you were at the opera the doctor called.

Cam. [laughing.] The doctor! Well, what did he say?

Nan. That you ought not to be out this damp evening; that you needed rest, and should take it. Cam. [impatiently.] Well, well, is that all? Nan. No, madame-some one has left this bouquet for you.

Var. [L. C., leaving piano.] It was by my orders. Cam. [takes bouquet.] Roses and lilies! You may put this in your own room, Nanette. [Throws it disdainfully at her. Exit NANETTE, C.

Var. You will not receive it?
Cam. What is my name, monsieur?
Var. Camille Gautier, of course.

Cam. But by what other name am I known?
Var. By that of the "Lady of the Camelias."
Cam. And why?

Var. Because they are the only flowers you

I

St. F. And I'm obliged to pay for them.

Cam. [laughing.] Upon my honor, St. Frivole, am her only customer.

Hel. Yes, and you take good care not to wear what you buy of her.

Cam. You are right, Helene, they are frights; but she is a very good woman, and poor as she can be. [Calls.] Madame Babiliard!

Mad. B. [from without.] Here I am!
Cam. Why don't you come in? supper is waiting.
Mad. B. [without.] I can't come!
Cam. What prevents you?

Mad. B. [without.] I have two young men with me, whom I have asked to take tea.

Cam. Bring them in also-it will come to the same thing! Who are they?

Mad. B. [without.] You know one of themGustave.

Cam. And the other?

Mad. B. [without.] Is his friend.

Cam. That will do, come quickly. [Leaves window.] It is very chilly this evening. [Coughs several times.] Varville, put some more wood on

St. F. [to CAMILLE.] And you, my admirable hostess, how is your cough?

Cam. Pretty well; about the same as ever. St. F. So much the better, we shall be amused to-night.

Hel. One is always amused where you are, monsieur.

St. F. Now that's cruel of you, Helene. I'm sorry Varville is not to stop with us, for I have ordered round some champagne and some oysters that are promised to be unexceptionable. I assure you, Camille, the champagne is perfect— perfect.

Hel. [to CAMILLE.] Will Madame Bibiliard be here [ST. FRIVOLE and VARVILLE converse together near fire-place.

Cam. Yes! [To NANETTE.] Is not supper ready yet, Nanette ?

Nan. In five minutes, madame; where shall it be served? In the dining-room?

Cam. No! in this room-it will be more pleasant. [Exit NANETTE, C.] Well, Varville, not yet gone?

Var. I am going!

Cam. [at R. window, calling.] Madame Babiliard! Madame Babiliard!

Hel. Does sne live opposite?

Cam. Yes; all our windows correspond, we are only separated by a narrow court, and we can converse easily. It's a great convenience, I assure you, when I am in need of her.

St. F. In need of her! why, what can she do? Hel. She makes bonnets-and such frights of bonnets; but I'm obliged to wear them.

least, if you can't be agreeable.

[VARVILLE Stoops and makes up fire. Enter SERVANT, C.

Ser. [announcing.] Monsieur Gustave, Monsieur Armand Duval, Madame Babiliard. [Exit c. Hel. [aside.] What style! how they announce one in this house!

Enter GUSTAVE, ARMAND DUVAL and MADAME BABILIARD, C.

Mad. B. What a pleasant company I see! I'm so fatigued! Oh, dear! oh, dear! Upstairs, down-stairs, all day long! Oh! my poor little feet. St. Frivole, why don't you hand me a chair?

St. F. L., aside.] Her dear little feet! she has confounded thick ankles. [Handing chair.] Madame Babiliard, I think your weakness is in your ankles!

Mad. B. And your weakness is in your head!
[General laugh.
St. F. [aside.] Monstrous impudent woman!
Gust. L. of CAMILLE.] How is madame's

health?

Cam. As usual-and yours, monsieur?

[Sits at R. table; GUSTAVE converses with her. St. F. Now, Madame Babiliard, how is your appetite? We are going to have a splendid supper! I hope your chopsticks are in prime order.

Mad. B. Monsieur St. Frivole, when will you stop your allusions? It's a good joke for you, too, when you love champagne so dearly.

St. F. Now, my dear madame, you know that is an exaggeration-I love nothing but the ladies. Mad. B. What, better than wine?

St. F. To be sure; any woman is preferable to.it.
Mad. B. You have very bad taste.
St. F. [significantly.] Oh!

Mad. B. What do you mean?

St. F. Merely that your remark reminds me of a certain closet in your house, where a bottle of cherry brandy resides.

Mad. B. No insinuations, monsieur; that is kept in case of illness.

St. F. Are you ill often? [MADAME BABILIARD turns c., and takes ARMAND'S hand.

Mad. B. [leading ARMAND to CAMILLE.] My dear Camille, permit me to present to you Mon

sieur Armand Duval! [ST. FRIVOLE converses with HELENE, L.; VARVILLE goes to piano. Cam. Must I rise at the introduction? Arm. No, madame-it is I who am honoredit is I who must pay the homage.

Mud. B. [aside to CAMILLE.] The man in Paris who most loves you.

Cam. [still seated.] Te" the servants to put on two extra plates. [Aside MADAME BABILIARD.] Doubtless his love does not prevent monsieur from eating supper. [She gives her hand to ARMAND, who bows and kisses it. Exit MADAME BABILIARD, C.

St. F. [c., to GUSTAVE, who has joined him.] Oh, my dear Gustave, I am charmed to see you! Gus. Always young, my old friend, St. Frivole! St. F. Thank you.

Gus. And your numerous affairs of the heart, how do they progress?

St. F. [pointing to HELENE.] Admirable! Helene is resplendent, and as soon as my uncle dies, we are to be married.

[HELENE brings ARMAND C. Gus. [to ST. FRIVOLE.] Allow me to congratulate you. [Crosses to CAMILLE.] St. Frivole is superb this evening, he gets younger every day; he is as far back as eighteen now. You know it is only the old who do not grow old.

Cam. Come, that is too bad; St. Frivole is not forty. [CAMILLE, HELENE and GUSTAVE converse, R.

St. F. [L., to ARMAND.] Are you any connection of M. Duval, that stiff, gruff, formal, rigid old fellow, the Receiver General of Tours? MADAME BABILIARD enters C., and converses with HELENE.

Arm. I have that pleasure, sir; that stiff, gruff, formal, rigid old fellow is my father!

Hel. [to MADAME BABILIARD.] There's that booby, St. Frivole, making an ass of himself.

St. F. I beg your pardon! I have seen him, and your mother, Madame Duval-a charming woman-a perfect angel!

Arm. She is so, sir-she is in heaven! She has been dead these three years.

St. F. Oh, sir, forgive me for having recalled such a painful recollection; I

Hel. [crossing to ARMAND.] Oh, yes, pray forgive him. He's not exactly quite right there[indicating his head] not responsible for what he says.

Arm. Pray, don't vex yourself to apologize; the error was quite natural.

St. F. You are an astonishing son; the only child?

Arm. No, monsieur, I have a sister-an only sister. [ARMAND and ST. FRIVOLE go up conversing. Cam. [aside to GUSTAVE.] Your friend Duval is charming.

Gus. I believe that, mademoiselle. know that he loves you to distraction?

Do you

Cam. That is impossible-I have not known him ten minutes.

Mad. B. But he has known you for two years. Cam. That's a long while.

Mad. B. Armand passes all the spare time he has with Michte and Gaston, for the single purpose of talking of you.

Gus. And when you were so ill for three months before you went to Bagniers, do you not recollect

that every day an unknown youth came regularly to ask after your health?

Cam. Yes, I recollect.

Gus. Well, it was he, Armand!

Cam. How very kind. [Aloud.] Monsieur Duval !

Arm. [coming to her.] Madame !

Cam. I have been told that it was you who were so attentive during my illness last spring— that you called every day to inquire about me. Arm. You have been told the truth, mademoiselle. It was I.

Cam. It is time, then, for me to thank you. [VARVILLE plays furiously at piano. CAMILLE calls.] Varville! Varville! Do stop that piano and come to me.

Var. [leaving piano.] You told me to play. Cam. That was when we were alone-but now that our friends are here, no more music. Have you heard what Monsieur Armand did last spring? Var. Yes!

Cam. Well, you never called once.

Var. But I have not known you so long. Cam. And Monsieur Armand has only known me for fifteen minutes. You always say silly things.

Enter NANETTE, C., preceding SERVANTS, who bring in supper on table.

Nan. Supper is ready, madame. [Table, ready set, placed in c., with chairs. SERVANTS exeunt. Mad. B. There's the supper! let us sit down! I'm dying with hunger.

St. F. You have been dying with that disease ever since I have known you.

[All sit at table except VARVILLE. Var. [going to C., back.] Adieu, Camille ! Cam. Adieu! when shall we see you again? Var. [returning hastily.] As soon as you please. Cam. Adieu, thenVar. Angel!

Cam. Forever! Var. Torturer!

[Exit hurriedly at c. Mad. B. My dear Camille, you treat the baron too harshly.

Cam. He annoys me so much-constantly talking about his love and his money; continually thrusting his eighty thousand francs in my face.

Hel. Do you complain of that? I wish he would thrust them in my face. Can't you transfer him to me, Camille?

St. F. Hallo! hallo! Helene, don't you crack my heart strings! Oh, my head— Mad. B. That's cracked already! St. F. [aside.] That d- -d old woman! Mad. B. Come, children, attend to the eating; these oysters are superb.

St. F. And this champagne will prove superb, as soon as I get the cork out.

[Commencing to uncork champagne. Hel. [to CAMILLE.] What do you suppose he made me a present of yesterday?

Cam. Who?

Hel. But I'm still obliged to walk. St. F. Unless I harness myself to her carriage, and a pretty exhibition that would be! Oh, Helene, love me for myself!

Hel. For yourself! that would be squandering my love upon nothing. Would you believe it, he wanted me to marry him, and he had not a franc in his pocket. Ha, ha!

St. F. But I will have when my uncle dies. Mad. B. [examining a dish.] What are these little beasts? [Helping herself to several.

St. F. Partridges !

Mad. B. Give me a few. St. F. A few partridges!

That old woman

certainly has an appetite that excels any that I have ever seen.

Mad. B. Old woman, sir! Is that the way you talk to a lady of my time?

St. F. Of your time! I have no wish to discuss ancient history.

Mad. B. St. Frivole, you are a bear!

St. F. And you're a boar!. [Aside.] I had the old woman there.

Gus. Madame Babiliard has still a wonderful appetite-one partridge at a time is not sufficient for her.

St. F. For so old a woman, it is truly remarkable. Mad. B. Why, for mercy's sake, how old do you suppose I am?

St. F. About forty, I should judge, at a moderate estimate!

Mad. B. Forty! you are very kind! I was only thirty-five last year!

St. F. Then you are pretty close to thirty-six ! I give you my word of honor, Madame Babiliard, you don't look more than forty.

Cam. Come, St. Frivole! if you begin talking of other people's age, we shall recall a certain anecdote that reflects upon your own years. Hel. Yes, indeed, we shall.

St. F. What anecdote do you mean?
Cam. That of the yellow carriage!

St. F. [jumping up with a bottle of champagne.] Madame Babiliard, let me give you some more champagne. Your glass is nearly empty.

Gus. Come, come-this yellow carriage business; let us hear it.

St. F. [going to GUSTAVE.] Do take some more champagne-you haven't tasted of it yet.

Cam. Be quiet, St. Frivole; Helene is going to tell the story.

St. F. I can't be quiet! [Puts down the bottle, and goes to piano.] Helene, don't say a word, or I'll never give you those horses!

Hel. You said you couldn't afford to do it.
St. F. But I will be able when my uncle dies.
Hel. His uncle-a good joke!

one carriage to run off with her, and she happened to take her place in another-a yellow onein which the Count de Giray was waiting for her." St. F. There, that is all. [Returning to table. Gus. How you must love all yellow carriages! Cam. Come, come, let us have a polka! Hel. Oh, yes! by all means! [All rise except MADAME BABILIARD, who is still eating.

Mad. B. You've not finished already? I haven't eaten half a supper!

Cam. You may eat in the background, while we dance. SERVANTS enter and remove table to back-MADAME BABILIARD follows it with her chair, knife and fork. ST. FRIVOLE plays a polka on the piano.

Hel. Who am I to dance with? St. Frivole is our orchestra. -Cam. I'll lend you Monsieur Duval. Gustave shall be my partner. Come, polk!

[CAMILLE and GUSTAVE at R. Hel. Here, Armand, this is our post. [HELENE and ARMAND at L. They dance. CAMILLE stops as if ill.

Gus. Heavens, Camille, what is the matter with you?

Cam. Oh, nothing! only a little faint.

[HELENE Supports her. Arm. [approaching her.] You are ill, madame. Cam. Oh, not at all-let us continue.

St. F. [at piano.] Come on, then. [Playsthey commence to dance-CAMILLE stops quickly. Arm. [anxiously.] Stop playing, St. Frivole. Mad. B. [coming forward.] Is Camille ill? Cam. [faintly.] A glass of water! Arm. [bringing it.] It is here.

Mad. B. What is the matter with you?

Cam. Always the same thing-it will soon pass over; pray leave me alone for a few moments. There is coffee in the next room.

Hel. Let us go.

Cam. I'll join you presently. [She sits at R. table, facing cheval glass. ST. FRIVOLE takes HELENE out at back. GUSTAVE follows them. ARMAND stands on L., earnestly watching CAMILLE.

Mad. B. [aside, and glancing at ARMAND.] It's only a ruse, I know. My friend Duval is a very pleasant young man. [Aloud.] Dear Camille, İ hope you feel better now?

Cam. Yes, a little.

Mad. B. Then I'll leave you-for I know the old proverb-[in a low tone to CAMILLE] "Two's company, and three's none!" [CAMILLE gives an impatient start. Exit MADAME BABILIARD at

back.

St. F. [commencing to play.] Perhaps! Gus. In that case, I would not give much for your chance of being his heir. But the yellow carriage?

St. F. Shall I play you the last new polka? [Plays loudly.

Hel. Imagine, then, that St. Frivole was once in love with Amanda.

Cam. St. Frivole! pray do not make such a noise.

Gus. The story! The story!

Arm. [aside.] Poor girl! [Aloud.] Are you easier, madame?

Cam. [turns towards him.] Ah! is it you, Monsieur Armand? Thank you, I am much better. These attacks are frequent-I am used to them.

Arm. You will kill yourself-I, who am a doctor, tell you so candidly. I would that I were your friend, your relation, that I might prevent you from doing yourself so much injury.

Cam. You are very good, Armand-my other friends do not think of me.

Arm. That is because they do not love you as

Arm. [L.] So be it, mademoiselle! But all these affectionate offerings to you should induce you to be more careful of your health.

Cam. [R. C.] If I took care of myself, I should die; the only thing that keeps me living is the feverish round of society which I follow. It is very well for women who have a family and many friends to be domestic; but for those like me-when they can no longer shine in society their so-called friends abandon them, and long solitary days do but precede longer and still more lonely evenings. I know this by experience, for when I was so very ill, the whole of last spring, not a single visit did I receive after the first fortnight.

Arm. Had I been your friend, I should have proved my friendship, and when you had regained your health, I would not have objected to your entering the gay society which you so ornament. But I am certain that, after a fair trial, you would prefer a quiet life, even in the country, to the ceaseless excitement of your present existence. Cam. [gaily.] I doubt that very much-in quietness I should surely die!

Arm. Have you no heart, Camille ?
Cam. Probably-but why do you ask?

Arm. Because, if you really possessed one, you would not laugh at what I tell you, not only as a friend, but as a physician.

Cam. You are serious, then?
Arm. Perfectly.

Cam. Madame Babiliard did not deceive me, when she said you were sentimental.

Arm. Is there anything ridiculous in being so? Cam. That depends upon whom you speak to of sentiment. However, you say you would take care of me?

Arm. Yes!

Cam. You would spend your days with me?
Arm. Without doubt.

Cam. And by what name would you designate this kindness ?

Arm. I should call it devotedness!

Cam. And from whence does it proceed?

Arm. From an irresistible sympathy for you; more than that

Cam. Then you love me?

Arm. I will not tell you to-day.

Cam. You had better never tell me.

Arm. Why so?

Cam. Because from such an avowal one of two things would have to result: either that I should not believe it, which would not satisfy you or that I should believe it, which would entail upon you the society of a nervous, ill and melancholy woman, whose affected gaiety is more sad than her natural despondency. No more of this--let us Join our friends. [Goes towards back. Arm. Go to them if you wish-but I must beg permission to remain here.

Cam. Wherefore? Arm. Because your gaiety, which you acknowledge to be affected, pains me too much.

[Crosses to R.

Cam. [turning to c.] Will you let me give you a piece of advice?

Arm. [R. C.] Speak on.

Cam. [gaily.] Take your place in the first train that leaves Paris, and save yourself from unhappiness, if what you told me be true. [Earnestly.] If you do not mean exactly what you say, love me like a good friend, but no more. Visit me, laugh with me, talk, jest, reason-do as you will; but do not exaggerate my worth. You possess a good heart; you have need of being loved; you are too young, and too wise, to choose a life such as that you say I lead. Love elsewhere-marry. [Gaily.] You see, I am a good child; I speak frankly.

ST. FRIVOLE opens door, C.

St. F. What the devil are you two doing here alone?

Cam. We are speaking of sense and reason.
St. F. Ah! nothing in my way.

Cam. Go way, we will be with you presently. [Exit ST. FRIVOLE, C. TO ARMAND.] Well, then, it is settled you will love me no longer?

Arm. I will try to follow your advice-I will go. Cam. [doubtingly.] So many people have told me that, and yet remained.

Arm. Perhaps you have retained them?
Cam. I? Oh, no!

Arm. You have, then, never loved any one?
Cam. Heaven be thanked, no!

Arm. How happy you have made me by saying that!

Cam. Happy? Well, you are an original! Arm. You are right. I am extravagant. Laugh at me. It is the best thing that can be done. Adieu! [Goes to back quickly.

Cam. [gently.] Armand!
Arm. You recall me!

Cam. We must part friends!
Arm. You wish it?

Cam. [gives her hand.] Yes; come and see me again-often. We will speak of all this some other time.

Arm. You grant me much-but not all that I wish.

Cam. Speak, then -demand whatever you please, since it seems that I owe you something. Arm. Do not speak thus. I do not wish to see you laugh at serious things.

Cam. I am not laughing.

Cam. And if you believe this possible, what do you say of me, myself?

Arm. That you are an angel!

Cam. No; but you will say of me what all the world says. But what matters it? Since my life is to be shorter than other people's, I will at least be happier-but be tranquil. If, notwithstanding the short life that I expect to live, I should survive beyond the promised eternity of your love— Arm. Camille !

Cam. [throwing off her sadness.] Well, let us wait and see. In the mean time, you have been kind to me--your expressions are sincere, and at