TWO CITIES; 
 
 PS 635 
 .Z9 
 D964 
 Copy 1 
 
 A DRAMA 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 M. CLAUDE DUROC, and EARNEST BELL, Esq. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PRINTED FOR THE PROPRIETOR. 
 
 1876. 
 
TWO CITIES; 
 
 A DRAMA 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 M. CLAUDE DUKOC, and EARNEST BELL, Esq. 
 
 y 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PRINTED FOR THE PROPRIETOR. 
 
 1876. 
 
\ 
 
 Copyright, 1874, 
 
 By James A. Moruan 
 
 Ail tights resetved. 
 
 TMP96-G0723 9 
 
TWO CITIES. 
 
 A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 Mr. Addison Reynart 
 
 PERSONS. 
 
 j A widower, and supposed man of 
 ' I fortune. 
 
 •1 
 
 Parisians — Men of the world. 
 
 Mr. Henry Dalton. . 
 Mr. George Brooke. . 
 
 Mr. Charles Clyne | 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Ruther- J- City gentlemen, his acquaintances. 
 
 STONE 
 
 Mr. Forrest. 
 Mr. Chitty . . 
 M. Macrobe. 
 
 M. Latour f 
 
 Dtjgdale The Reynart gardner. 
 
 Mrs. Van Tier A widow, with a daughter (fifty). 
 
 Miss Ethel Reynart (Twenty). 
 
 Miss Fanny Van Tier. . . .(Nineteen). 
 
 Miss Eva Clare (Sweet sixteen). 
 
 Miss Parker (Supposed to be forty). 
 
 Muchicatawney A ladies' companion (unknown). 
 
 Madamoiselle Disblance ) p arisian «. adventnPPW( , 
 Madam Delapierre . . . . J ransians adventuresses. 
 
 j The Flower Girl of the 
 I Jockey Club. 
 
 I 
 
 ISABELLE. 
 
 Paris 
 
 Mrs. Montmorency 
 Slashington \ A landlad J of the period. 
 
 M ANNETTE 
 
 Badger. , Miss Reynart's maid. 
 
 Madelon A star. 
 
 Guests — Citizens — Waiters- 
 ins — Musicians- 
 
 Gens d'armes — Hawkers — Gam- 
 -Attendants, &c, &c. 
 
 SCENE : New York and Vicinity. — Paris. 
 Time, 1874. 
 
ACT FIRST. 
 
 The Villa on the Hudson. 
 Croquet. 
 
 ACT SECOND. 
 
 Paris. 
 Apartments on the Boulevart Haussmann. 
 
 ACT THIRD. 
 
 Paris. 
 The Champs Eltsees 
 
 ACT FOURTH. 
 
 New York. 
 Mrs. Van Tier's Residence on Fifth Avenue. 
 
 ACT FIFTH. 
 
 New York. 
 The Sick-Room. 
 
TWO CITIES 
 
 ACT FIRST. 
 
 (Croquet.) 
 
 Lawn in front of Mr. Addison Reynart's villa on 
 the Hudson, -near New York. Entrance to villa, 
 loitli broad veranda, at l. c. Hudson visible in 
 direction of the garden at R. Open-tvork summer- 
 house at extreme R. of stage. Opposite entrance 
 to villa, a large tree, with seat constructed around 
 it ; tree with similar seat at l. 
 
 Enter M. Macrobe. r. 
 
 Mac. Ah, fine ! entirely fine ! (looking at villa) Evi- 
 dently very rich — the Americans are all rich. In my 
 country it is only princes who have city palaces and 
 country palaces. Brooke must be sure of his footing, 
 to make his appointment here, at all events. If he 
 will only keep it. Lucky boy, that boy of mine, 
 Brooke, very lucky indeed ! Lucky in love — 
 lucky in — ahem ! I must keep my thoughts to my- 
 self, most especially since he approaches at this very 
 moment ! 
 
 Enter Brooke from the villa. 
 
 B. Well ! you found your road, it seems. You 
 French hounds have a keen scent. 
 
 Mac. At all events, I and my fellow French hounds, 
 1* 
 
6 TWO CITIES. 
 
 as you call us, could not well afford to lose scent 
 of you ! (aside) I am here, my dear boy. 
 
 B. Yes, so I see ; how did you get here ? 
 
 Mac. I walked up the railway track, from the sta- 
 tion, and climbed the long garden stairway. 
 
 B. Yes, yes — and you saw ? 
 
 Mac. Nobody ! positively nobody ! 
 
 B. And who saw you ? "Nobody," too, I hope ? 
 
 Mac. I do not know. "But why should they not 
 see me, if they would ? They would not see such a 
 bad-looking person, at all events. Besides, my dear 
 boy, I am neither a bandit nor a kitchen-thief. I am 
 after neither Monsieur's plate nor Monsieur's daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 B. Yes, yes. But I had rather they did not see 
 you, nevertheless. Have you brought the papers ? 
 
 Mac No. 
 
 B. No? 
 
 Mac. No ! you say " no " yourself, now. At first 
 everything was " yes, "yes "! (aside) 
 
 B. But why have you not brought them ? 
 
 Mac. Be calm! Do not agitate yourself, my dear 
 boy; I have not brought the papers, because I have 
 contrived a better and less dangerous way of accom- 
 plishing what you seek. Shall we not sit down in 
 the summer-house ? It appears that there are chairs 
 there; there are certainly none here — and, after I 
 have climbed those ridiculously steep stairs, I cer- 
 tainly do not intend to stand while I do my business 
 with you. 
 
 B. Well, so be it, let us go into the kiosque by all 
 means. (they enter the summer-house, and sit) 
 
 Mac But why will it not be well that you should 
 marry her ? It is surely wealth — wealth that I per- 
 ceive all around me ! — that city palace ! — these magni- 
 ficent grounds! 
 
 B. Bah! All about to be sold under the hammer! 
 I have friends in the street — I tell you I know all about 
 it. Key n art's money was in a hundred bubble com- 
 panies that the panic pricked. In Antarctic Southern- 
 Continental Trust, and all those things that went 
 
TWO CITIES. 7 
 
 under, last November ; and all the street knows that 
 he is on the very eve of failure. In fact, I think he is 
 only buying time, now, to get his daughter married. 
 But what is all this to you ? It is enough for you to 
 know that I will not marry a bankrupt's daughter. 
 
 Mac. Nor would we — that is, I mean, nor would 
 I have you. At all events, it is clear, my dear boy, 
 that you can not marry a bankrupt's daughter. But 
 why can you not leave her at least with her name ? 
 Is it necessary to deceive her? Does she not love 
 you ? 
 
 B. Love me! I should say she did! Can't live out 
 of my sight — all that sort of thing, you know. 
 
 Mac. And this is the girl whose happiness you 
 would destroy, whom you would 
 
 B. Bah! Macrobe, these heroics — or pastorals, or 
 whatever you intend them for — would be very pretty 
 — if we had more time for them. The happiness of 
 how many girls have you destroyed, and so on ? But 
 you are here on business, just now, and time is pre- 
 cious ; what do you propose doing? 
 
 Mac' Listen, then. She will do whatever you 
 say ? 
 
 B. Not the least doubt of it in the world. 
 
 Mac. Let it be known that I have come here to- 
 day — that is, that a stranger has come here to-day— 
 to seek you. Let me be seen upon the grounds ; say 
 that I have brought you a cable dispatch that makes 
 it imperative that you should sail for Europe, on the 
 Cunarder that leaves to-morrow. Ask her to fly with 
 you — show her a marriage-license — I, Macrobe, will be 
 the priest. I have practiced the ceremony. I am Fa- 
 ther Rex of the Holy Catholic Church, and very much 
 at your service — do you not see ? We sail to-morrow. 
 Monsieur and Madame Brooke on a Cunarder; I, on a 
 Germansteamer. As you go by way of England, I will 
 be first in Paris. You will find everything prepared 
 for your reception in your nuptial apartments in that 
 city. I trust that Madame will not suffer vastly from 
 malade du mer. Do you follow me attentively ? 
 
 B. That may do ; but your disguise must be perfect, 
 
8 TWO CITIES. 
 
 for we must meet — that is, she must meet you in 
 Paris. 
 
 Mac. I will see to that. 
 
 B. You are sure that nobody observed you ascend- 
 ing the stairway ? 
 
 Mac. Nobody. That is, nobody but a very fat 
 woman, in a claret-colored dress, and a complexion 
 to match. 
 
 B. So far, good ! that very fat woman is Muchica- 
 tawney, a sort of faithful retainer — devoted family 
 factotum, you know! 
 
 Mac. Rather fat for a factotum, I should say. 
 
 B. But hush ! there is Ethel, now ! 
 
 [Enter Ethel from the veranda.) 
 
 Don't on any account let her see you — not your face, 
 at any rate ! 
 
 Mac. Perhaps it. would be best that she should see 
 my face. She might fall in love with me, and then 
 you would be well rid of your bankrupt's daughter. 
 
 B. Yes, that is quite likely — she will doubtless fall 
 in love with you the instant she sees you — as all 
 women do, according to Macrobe! 
 
 Ethel. They told me he was here ! 
 
 B. Turn your back to her, the devil, man ! I say, 
 'will you turn your back ? (to him) 
 
 Mac. Did ever a Frenchman turn his back upon 
 such loveliness! Shall ever a Frenchman turn his 
 back upon such loveliness ? (aside) 
 
 B. Ah, my darling ! were you looking for me ? 
 
 (he comes out and crosses to her) 
 
 Mac. What a face! what radiant eyes! Heavens! 
 is this the lady he would betray ? (aside) 
 
 E. Oh ! George ! I have looked for you everywhere ! 
 
 (they embrace) 
 
 B. Yes, yes! my darling! And now — don't let me 
 shock you! I have very sudden news to tell you 
 
 E. Oh ! what is it ? you will not leave me, George ? 
 
 B. At least, it's very sudden to me. Yes, I'm 
 afraid that I really must leave you, at least, for a 
 time ; that fellow in the summer-house there — turn 
 
TWO CITIES. 9 
 
 your back, d — mn you ! (aside) — has just come up to 
 town with a cable dispatch 
 
 E. But, George ! 
 
 B. There, there ! (caressing her) perhaps we need 
 not be separated, after all. 
 
 E. What can you mean ? 
 
 B. Leave us alone for an instant, until I can dis- 
 pose of him. I will joiu you immediately in the 
 morning room. He will not keep me long. 
 
 E. I will ; but ask your friend inside — any friend 
 of yours is welcome to me. 
 
 B. Bah ! he isn't a friend — not company by any 
 means. He's only a messenger ; we have to talk to 
 such people sometimes. 
 
 Mac. Do you? Aha! my fine boy, one of these 
 days you shall hear me say this of you. (aside) 
 
 E. I will go. (going) But — but you will not be 
 long, George ? 
 
 B. I will not be two seconds, (exit Edith) Any- 
 body with half an eye can see that she's just 
 daft on me! (crossing to the summer-house) Eh! 
 Macrobe'? 
 
 Mac. Mon Dieu ! (rising and coming out) Do you 
 mean to say that it is that lady — that angel — that you 
 would deceive ? 
 
 B. That 1 intend to deceive! Ha! ha! that is 
 worthy of you, Macrobe — that / would deceive ! No, 
 indeed, that is the lady, or the angel, that I intend 
 to marry. It is you who intend to deceive her by 
 pretending to be a priest. 
 
 Mac. But I have changed my mind. 
 
 B. Bravo ! It is pastoral now, not heroic. 
 
 Mac. Brooke, I can not do it. If you do not, if 
 you will not, marry her honorably — at least leave her 
 as she is. If you will not make her your wife — I — I, 
 Jean Macrobe, gentleman of France, Chevalier of the 
 Legion of Honor — I will make her my honorable wife, 
 and you shall be free as air. 
 
 B. Ha! ha! marry her! that is a good one — marry 
 her — do you suppose that she would look at you 
 twice ? 
 
10 TWO CITIES. 
 
 Mac. I do not know why not. 
 
 B. Are you an idiot — can you not see why not ? 
 She loves me — me ! 
 
 Mac. And you taunt her with it, and will punish 
 her for it by— - — 
 
 B. Don't interrupt me. She loves me, and, by 
 Jove! sir, do you suppose that I will give her up to 
 you ? Shall I leave her, and kill her ? No, sir ; I am 
 a merciful man. 
 
 Mac. But men do leave women, and the women 
 live. I pray you — I beseech you — leave her, if you 
 will. And, as you said, you can not afford to marry 
 a bankrupt's daughter. But I can, if you can not. 
 (aside) Go, sail to-morrow as you purposed — but 
 leave that fair young ere .tnre at least what she 
 has already. 
 
 B. You are mad, Macrobe ! Do you think that I 
 will give up a woman that dotes on me? I have a 
 fancy for that girl myself, Monsieur Macrobe. If I 
 sail to-morrow, she sails too ; I see no reason why I 
 should give her up to you. She has not fallen in love 
 with you — as you evidently have with her. But I 
 promised to join her at once — do you say seven this 
 evening, at the Fifth Avenue Hotel ? I think that 
 will do; see that every thing is ready. As soon as we 
 arrive, I will send for Father Eex — and he might as 
 well be near at hand. Now, don't make any mistakes, 
 — good-bye. (exit Brooke.) 
 
 Mac. By Heaven ! We Frenchmen are said to be cool 
 hands ; but I never saw a cooler hand than my good 
 little boy, Brooke. Deceive an angel with such a face, 
 and such a voice ! Macrobe, you could not do that your- 
 self. But we — that is, I and my principals — can not 
 afford to cross him just now. But that face, that 
 holy face ! Too pure, too holy for the dupe of such. 
 villainy as his ! — I suppose I must say such villainy 
 as ours, (as lie is about to proceed in the direction of 
 the garden, enter Muchicatawnet. They meet ; each 
 tries to pass the other) 
 
 Mac. A thousand pardons, mademoiselle! 
 
 Much. Oh my! oh my good gracious! a man! 
 
TWO CITIES. 11 
 
 oh ! excuse me ! excuse me ! {each turns out for the 
 other, and they meet face to face again) 
 
 Mac. Pardon me, mademoiselle. 
 
 Much. Oh ! excuse me ! excuse me ! (same play as 
 before) 
 
 Mac. Pardon me, mademoiselle. 
 
 Much. Oh ! excuse me ! excuse me ! (same play) 
 
 Mac. Pardon me mademoiselle. 
 
 Much. Oh ! excuse me ! excuse me ! (same play) 
 
 Mac. If mademoiselle will have the goodness to 
 stand still, I will take the liberty of passing by 
 her. (he passes her) Thank you ! I wish you a 
 very good afternoon. (exit through the garden) 
 
 Much. Oh ! goodness gracious ! how flustered I am ! 
 What can the little Frenchman want of me ? And how 
 polite he was ! and how he looked into my eyes! Oh, 
 dear! I never was so taken aback in all my life ! I 
 must run, or he'll be back here directly ; I wish I'd 
 had my green dress on — it's ever so much more be- 
 coming to my complexion. (exit through villa) 
 
 (Enter Me. Chitty into villa from the veranda, lighting 
 a cigar.) 
 
 C. "Well, the Hudson is a nice sort of river, now — 
 when one gazes at it comfortably, from a lawn like 
 this! After such a dinner, too! in such a place as 
 Reynart has got here — and with lots of pretty girls 
 within reach. I wonder how much the old boy will 
 cut up on Edith. Pretty property, that gal— only 
 child, and stylish ! 'Pon my word, though, I can't for 
 the life of me make up my mind which is the 
 nicest — she or that little Van Tier! It's always just 
 that way with me, by Jove! Given any two gals, can't 
 say which is the most desirable ; and when it comes 
 to be twenty gals, or fifty, why I just give it up, and 
 dote on 'em all. Somehow or other, though, it don't 
 seem as if any of 'em wanted me particularly. I 
 don't seem to belong to anybody — unless I belong to 
 that gothic female, Parker. That woman will marry 
 me by main strength some day. I must hurry up 
 and find somebody else, or I'm positive she will. 
 
12 TWO CITIES. 
 
 With that exception, I don't seem to be particularly 
 wanted around here. I've been here a week, now, 
 meditating something brilliant in the matrimonial 
 line. I've advanced step by step — came on Sunday. 
 Sunday — Being a day of rest of course, nothing 
 could he done. Monday — Being early in the week, 
 wasn't too precipitate in beginning anything. 
 Tuesday — determined not to let the week pass with- 
 out achieving something brilliant. Wednesday — Re- 
 solved on vigorous measures for Thursday. Thursday 
 — Matured Wednesday's deliberations. Friday — 
 Rather too late in the week to do anything. Saturday 
 — Gave myself up to society, and consulted friends as 
 to what was best to be done — I hope I'm not in any- 
 body's way! 
 
 (Enter Dugdale and Badger from rear of villa at l. 
 carrying croquet, mallets, balls, wickets, d-c.) 
 
 Bad. Miss Ethel gave that direction at any rate, 
 sir ; and 1 suppose she knows what she wants, sir ! 
 
 Dug. H'm! /spose it's all right, then, only in my 
 opinion, Miss Badger — humble as that opinion may 
 be, and modestly as I offer it — these grounds is in- 
 tended tor horticulture, and not for husbandry! 
 {they proceed to set out the croquet ground, and in so 
 doing Dugdale jostles against Mr. Chitty.) I ask 
 your pardon, sir! 
 
 C. I — I hope I'm not in — (sees Dugdale) Oh, 
 yes ! I'll get out of your way. 
 
 (Enter from the villa, Ethel, Miss Parker, Daltox, 
 and Brooke. Exit Dugdale and Badger.) 
 
 D. Shall we be partners, Miss Reynart ? 
 
 E. What! Oh, yes! I suppose so. I kuew it would 
 happen so ! (aside) (Brooke and Miss Parker 
 play against Ethel and Dalton) 
 
 E. Miss Parker, yours is red — and yours, Mr. 
 Brooke, is black. 
 
 Miss P. Rouge et noir — that is the name of a game 
 you naughty, naughty men play, Mr. Brooke! 
 {archly) 
 
TWO CITIES. 13 
 
 C. (smoking, at extreme r.) There! she wants to 
 make me jealous — let's on she don't see me, you know ! 
 
 (aside) 
 
 B. Yes, so I suppose ! (disgustedly) 
 
 E. Mr. Dal ton, will you play with blue, please ? 
 
 D. Yes, and thank you for the selection — since blue 
 is true. 
 
 E. Unquestionably — but blue is also blue, Mr. Dal- 
 ton; and, I suppose, if we are playing at preferences, 
 that — because green is the only color left for me — I am 
 jealous ! 
 
 Miss P. I'm sure you've no reason to be je ;lous. 
 Mr. Dalton is so devoted! 
 
 E. Now, black! (they play, Mr. Chittt comes up, 
 lighting a fresh cigar) 
 
 C. I hope I'm not in anybody's way ? 
 
 E. Not in the least — won't you join us, MrOhitty? 
 
 C. Thanks, no. I don't know that I admire cro- 
 quet. It's much too embarrassing for a business, and 
 too innocent for a pleasure ; so I — I hope you'll excuse 
 me — especially, as there are no more balls, or mallets, 
 or partners — I hope I'm not in anybody's way ! 
 
 E. (croquets tight against blue, which flies in direc- 
 tion of the garden) Oh, dear! what have I done! 
 Please — please excuse me, Mr. Dalton — I am very 
 absent-minded, and I was thinking Mr. Brooke was 
 my partner when I drove you so far away ! 
 
 B. (going after his ball, and returning with it) It 
 is not worth mentioning. She always is driving me 
 so far away, (aside) 
 
 C. With my cigar, I mean. (Brooke drives his ball 
 up and hits Ethel's. They both come forward r. as he 
 plays the balls up) It seems that I am in the way, 
 after all. (retiring) 
 
 B. You're very silent, Ethel! 
 
 E. Oh, George ! I am hesitating so. It is a peril- 
 ous step you urge me to take — and my poor lather, 
 to whom I can not even say good-bye ! If I only had 
 somebody to whom I could turn for counsel and ad- 
 vice ! 
 
 B. Do you wish counsel or advice ? I supposed 
 '& 
 
14 TWO CITIES. " 
 
 your own heart would give you that. If it does not, 
 then I (as if going) 
 
 E. (seizing him by the arm) No! no! don't go. 
 I did not mean that ! 
 
 B. Do 1 ask counsel and advice ? 
 
 E. But I feel so uncertain of myself — oh ! do not 
 quarrel with me for that. You know too well that 
 it is because my heart counsels me to do as you wish 
 — that it is because yom\wish outweighs all other 
 earthly considerations with me — that I tremble lest I 
 should go wrong. If I had one older than myself 
 who could understand all, and would tell me what to 
 do — old heads are the wisest 
 
 B. Yes, but young hearts are the Avarmest! What 
 wicket are you for ? 
 
 E. The last before tlft stake. 
 
 B. And I am for the stake itself. Do you think I 
 will miss it ? (to her) 
 
 E. Oh, George ! forgive me if I am weak and fal- 
 tering — but I don't know. 
 
 B. But I know. I shall not miss it, if we go to- 
 gether, (hits his ball against Ethel's, and croquets 
 them both in the direction of the stake) 
 
 Miss P. Now, blue! It's your turn (Daltox strikes 
 his ball up, and folloivs it. Mr. Chitty approaches) 
 
 C. Will you have a cigar, Mr. Dal ton? I'm sure I 
 hope you won't object to my taking a fresh one my- 
 self, Miss Reynart ? 
 
 E. I only wish that was your worst habit, Mr. 
 Chitty — it's not your smoking, but your flirting pro- 
 pensities that I object to, Mr. Chitty. 
 
 C. Flirting? I protest I don't know what the word 
 means ! 
 
 E. The most dangerous flirtation is that which pro- 
 tests it never flirts. Flirtation is attention with- 
 out intention, Mr. Chitty. Now, so far from object- 
 ing to your smoke 
 
 Miss P. Oh, no ! We dote on cigars, don't we, 
 girls ? 
 
 C. Girls ! I wonder when she was a girl ! (aside) 
 
 Miss P. For my part, I always insist on the gen- 
 
TWO CITIES. 15 
 
 tlemen smoking when they come to our house ; and 
 I'm sure I only wish I could smoke, too. 
 
 B. Gad ! You look as if you could, anyway ! (aside) 
 What are you for — red ? (they play. In the course of 
 the play, Brooke comes forward ; Mr. Chitty fol- 
 lows him) Why, Brooke! How is this ? I hear you're 
 going to run off. 
 
 B. What ! wh o the dev 
 
 C. Who the devil told me ? Why I believe, just 
 now, that it was Miss Eeynart told me. 
 
 B. I ask her pardon. Well, 1 might have said 
 something about not wearing out my welcome, but 
 on the whole, I'm so well off here, I think I'll stay a 
 month longer. 
 
 C. Glad to hear it ! They're going to have some 
 "balls and things next week, and a fellow don't just 
 like thinking that all the good times are going to begin 
 directly he's gone — at least, I don't. I'm going off to- 
 morrow — I hope if I stay until to-morrow, I shan't be 
 in anybody's way ? 
 
 B. Who? you? Ah, no! you won't be in any- 
 body's way, I can assure you. 
 
 C. Ahem ! no ! That is, I hope not. I think he 
 must have misunderstood me ! (aside) By the way, 
 I'm just about to take a cigar — will you join me ? (of- 
 fers cigar, lighting a fresh one himself) 
 
 B. Don't you see that I'm playing croquet now — I 
 can't smoke now ! 
 
 (Enter from the villa. Mr. Cltxe and Fanny Van 
 Tier.) 
 
 F. Oh, dear me! Again! There, now! you have 
 said that about four thousand times already — and 
 it's only three o'clock. Will you be quiet ? (to 
 Clyne) 
 
 E. Here, Fanny, take my mallet. Mr. Brooke, will 
 you give yours to Mr. Clyne ? I would like to speak 
 to you — to say good-bye — if you must go. (takes 
 Brooke's arm) 
 
 Cl. Oh! now, bother croquet! It's so awfully ta, 
 vou know! 
 
16 TWO CITIES. 
 
 (They exchange places with Clyne and Fanny Van 
 
 Tier. Brooke and Ethel exit through 
 
 the garden.) 
 
 C. {holing after them) Gauzy! gauzy! she wants 
 to say good bye to him!— that's very gauzy indeed! 
 It's my opinion that neither of them want to say 
 good bye to anybody ! (aside) Will you have a ci- 
 gar ? I hope 
 
 Cl. Not in the least, Thanks— I don't smoke 
 
 F. Oh, no! He don't smoke! He don't know how! 
 I think all society men ought to smoke — so that 
 when they open their mouths, they can always have 
 something to put into them. If they try to talk, they 
 only show people what idiots they are! Now, dear 
 Mr. Chitty, if you only would teach Mr. Clyne to 
 smoke, how thankful he would be ! It would make his 
 reputation for him — and save him no end of conun- 
 drums ! 
 
 Miss P. Mr. Clyne, yen are a rover — alas! I am 
 afraid that is the character of most of you awful 
 men ! 
 
 F. It's fortunate somebody made him a rover — or 
 else he would never have been anything but a booby! 
 
 Ol. Now, really, Fan 
 
 F. What, sir! What! What! Iwill.be under obli- 
 gations to you, sir, it you remember that my name is 
 "Miss Van Tier! — Fanny, indeed! What is the color 
 of your ball ? 
 
 Cl. (meekly) Black. 
 
 F. Then you shall exchange it for mine ! for mine 
 is green— and that will suit you so well! 
 
 D. Come red! it's your turn — Miss Parker, is that 
 my bali up there by you ? (crossing to her) 
 
 (They play. Mr. Clyne crosses to Fanny.) 
 
 Cl. Now, Fan — Miss Van Tier, I mean. 
 
 F. Oh, dear! You are so tiresome ! 
 
 Cl. But Fan ! — You're so awfully ta, you know ! — 
 
 that is, I mean — you know I love 
 
 (they come forward) 
 
TWO CITIES. 17 
 
 F. What! Again! How dare you say that to me 
 again ? Now, just listen to me, Mr. Charles Clyne — 
 if you tell me you love me once more — mind, now — 
 just once more — I'll never speak to you again, as long 
 as I live ! 
 
 Ol. But, I say, Fan — what's a feller to do 
 when you're so awfully ta — (Me. Chitty comes up) 
 What the devil is he doing here ? 
 
 C. I hope I'm not in anybody's way — but I only 
 wanted to 'inquire if this is the way to play croquet? 
 
 F. This is the way Mr. Clyne plays — but he's young 
 yet — he needs instruction ! 
 
 Miss P. Now, green ! 
 
 F. Oh, yes, it's my turn, {hits Mack) Now, black, 
 I'm going to tight croquet you into the river ! 
 (follows her bull) 
 
 C. As Mr. Clyne will probably decline to ' extend 
 you any facilities for sending him into the river, 
 will yon permit me to adjust that perfect little boot 
 of yours upon that fortunate ball ? (lie stoops and 
 places her foot upon the ball) 
 
 F. Thank you ! How polite you are — which is more 
 than I can say for some ! (hits Iter ball violently) You 
 are really the only gallant man in this vicinity. 
 There is my partner, under the trees, flirting with 
 Miss Parker! Mr. Cline, I suppose, is moping 
 around somewhere where he isn't wanted ! 
 
 Cl. I say, now ! you're so awfully ta — ! 
 
 F. (turning) Be quiet, sir! You're such an awful 
 lady's man, Mr. Chitty! I wonder you never marry! 
 
 C. Well, as a habit, I dont' ! 
 
 F. Pshaw ! You know what I mean ! Of course, 
 I know that marrying isn't a habit — like smoking ! 
 
 C. Oh ! but with some men it does get to be quite 
 a habit. Henry the Eighth, you know, and Brig- 
 ham Young, and but, as for myself, I admire the 
 
 ladies too much ! I admire 'em all! Upon my word, 
 now! do you know I couldn't have the consummate 
 impudence to say to a lady — " I love you better than 
 all the other gals " — why, I wouldn't dare, you know, 
 to be so disrespectful to all the other srals ! Suppose, 
 2* 
 
18 TWO CITIES. 
 
 though, I should fall regularly smash — all of a heap, 
 you know! — like the story-books! 'Twould be funny 
 — wouldn't it? Brown eyes — tangled hair — "any- 
 how" style, you know — loves you all to pieces! I've 
 sometimes imagined that if I could be accidentally 
 shot out at some nice place, or thrown off a horse — 
 and seme nice gal should nurse me tenderly — read 
 to me — bathe my face — and that sort of thing — I 
 might get spoons — desperately — and then — if we 
 could only have the parson", or a justice of the peace, 
 right in — before I got well enough to go out riding 
 and see some other gal — loves you- you love her — 
 get married — pay parson — (or the justice of the 
 peace) — kiss the bridesmaids — Jove ! and the bride 
 too! — kiss your mother-in-law !— oh. Lord! 
 
 (Faxny plays ball to l. and follows it. All retire. 
 The game proceeds.) 
 
 Love your mother-in-law passionately — that's the 
 sublimest passion of which human nature is capable! 
 Cunarder — folks-in-law down to see you off! Or, say 
 the economical — Niagara! — come back again — settle 
 down — (looks around) Gad! she's gone off — and 
 then — then — 0, yes! then a baby — think of the 
 romance of life ending in a baby ! S<j the Fourth of 
 July always ends in a flash ! and the romance of life — 
 in a baby! 
 
 (Faxny, Miss Parker, and Mr. Dalton come up, 
 Clyxe following them.) 
 
 F. (to them) Oh ! come here ! I want you to hear 
 Mr. Chitty talk about matrimony — it's as good as 
 a play! Well, what's your ideal of a wife, Mr. 
 Chitty ? 
 
 0. Ahem! so you've got back, have you? Well, 
 Miss Van Tier, I'll tell you my ideal of a wife. Not 
 too clever! — a woman whose intellect has range 
 enough in communion with her husband, and whose 
 ambition seeks no higher honor than his love and 
 worship. — a woman who does not think it weakness 
 to spend a careful hour before her mirror, and who 
 
TWO CITIES. 19 
 
 does not disdain to be beautiful for her husband's 
 sake — a woman who speaks low, and does not speak 
 much — who is patient and gentle, spirituelle and 
 brave — who loves more than she reasons, and yet 
 does not love blindly — who never scolds, and never 
 argues, but adjusts with a smile. Such a wife is the 
 one I suppose every man has dreamed of, at least 
 once in his life! 
 
 F. Excellent! excellent! (clapping Iter hands) And 
 now let me tell you my model lor a husband ! I want 
 a man who has no brains whatever, but at least four 
 suits of clothes a week — a man who has never 
 done anything, but who goes everywhere — who waxes 
 his moustache at the ends, and wears his hair cut 
 very short — he must belong to our set, must be very 
 rich, and very silly — such an elegant waltzer that 
 he'll never have to talk — he must never have men- 
 tioned a book in the whole course of his life, 
 much less have read one — after we are married, he 
 must keep out of the way between breakfast and 
 dinner, but must always be at home by daybreak! 
 (plays ball to l. and follows it) That's the sort of a 
 man I expect ! 
 
 C. Bravo ! I hope you may get him ! He's uncom- 
 mon rare about Hew York! 
 
 Miss P. It's my turn to play ! Have you for- 
 gotten poor little me ? (plays) 
 
 C. Poor little me ! now she's touched my stony 
 heart ! (aside) 
 
 F. Now, black ! I say, Mr. Clyne, come here! (lie 
 comes up) Have you any idea that it's your turn to 
 play — and that we're all waiting for you — and that 
 your ball is at this moment reposing gracefully down 
 there amid the grass in the garden ? 
 
 Cl. Very Avell ; I'll send for it presently. 
 
 F. Send for it! no, indeed, you won't — you'll go 
 for it, sir — that's what you '11 do — and you won't be 
 long either — as usual ! To think of a whole game 
 being kept waiting through your laziness ! 
 
 Cl. My laziness ! Haven't I been standing here 
 for half an hour, listening to you and Chitty making 
 
20 TWO CITIES. 
 
 speeches to one another! (going after ball slowly) I 
 wish / were reposing gracefully down there amid 
 the grass in the garden, that would be awfully ta ! 
 
 Miss P. I'm sure my partner plays very well. He 
 is a rover, anyway — and that's more than you can say 
 for your partner, Fanny, my dear ! 
 
 C. Her paitners always rove, (aside) 
 
 F. Yes, he was a rover to begin with. I wish Mr. 
 Brooke or Edith had done as much for me ! 
 
 C. I shouldn't wonder if they were both rovers by 
 this time ! (aside) 
 
 (Enter Clyne from garden with his ball in h is hand.) 
 
 C. I say, now ! where shall I put this ? 
 
 All. Why, carry it back, and hit it up ! (Clyne 
 goes bach) 
 
 F. The idea of that young man's bringing his ball 
 up here in his hand ! 
 
 (Enter Mr. Reynart from villa.) 
 
 C. How do ! I say, I'm just going to take a cigar — 
 will you baccy? (offering a cigar) 
 
 R. Yes. thank you — yes. I will take your fire too. 
 (they light) I supposed that I should find Ethel here ! 
 
 C. Miss Reynart went off in the direction of the 
 o-arden to say good by to — (Fanny drives her ball 
 violently against Chitty's foot) Oh, bless my soul! 
 what's that ! I hope I'm not in anybody's way ! 
 
 F. Oh, Mr. Chitty ! I hope I didn't hit you ! 
 
 C. Hit me! Oh, no! not in the least, (limping) 
 Only, I suppose, if I will stand in front of the wickets, 
 that I will be in somebody's way ! 
 
 F. I'm so glad I didn't hit you! — for — I — I — Oh! 
 Mr. Reynart, I want you to be my partner ! (goes to 
 him) 
 
 R. What, play ! Oh, I couldn't think of it ! I was 
 only looking after Ethel — besides, crocpiet! too com- 
 plicated a game for me. 
 
 F. Complicated ! why Mr. Chitty, here, says its too 
 innocent for him ! 
 
 C. But I have since found, that, with a charming 
 
TWO CITIES. 21 
 
 partner like yourself, it may really get to be danger- 
 ous ! {limping and rubbing his leg) especially if she 
 is so terribly accurate in her aim ! {aside) 
 
 F. Now, I suppose you've said that to no end of 
 girls ! Go and say it to Miss Parker, and I've no 
 doubt she'll surrender at once ! Come, Mr. Eeynart, 
 you shall take Mr. Dalton's place. He has been the 
 most disagreeable partner — why, do yon know, he 
 hasn't said a single pretty thing tome nil this game ! 
 Mr. Chitty has done all that — and all the time he 
 has been dying to say them to Miss Parker instead! 
 
 ( '. Oh, yes ! you really must play, Mr. Eeynart — 
 here, take my hammer {offering his cane) and I think 
 I know where I can find you a ball — a regular bomb- 
 shell! {aside) 
 
 (D Alton comes forward) 
 
 F. Oh ! you needn't come here Mr. Dalton, I have 
 confiscated your place for Mr. Eeynart. Do you im- 
 agine, sir, that you can be moody and glum as an 
 owl, and be tolerated in good society ? Why, you 
 haven't-said a word to me, sir, this whole afternoon ! 
 
 D. Mr. Eeynart is very welcome to play, I assure 
 him, but I certainly shall not give up my partner, nor 
 my place at her side. 
 
 F. Why, I declare! you are waking up! Well, sir, 
 if you will say those things all the time, you shall 
 keep your place at my side, {playing) 
 
 Miss P. {to Clyne) Did you kiss Miss Van Tier ? 
 
 Cl. No, I'm sure I didn't kiss anybody! I was 
 aiming at green ! 
 
 F. Then I've no doubt you kissed Miss Parker — 
 you always come so near what you aim at ! Yes, I 
 am sure you kissed Miss Parker — just see her 
 blushes! 
 
 C. Blushes! she buys those blushes by the box ! 
 {aside) 
 
 Cl. I'm sure I didn't mean to kiss anybody — If I 
 had, I shouldn't have kissed Parker ! {aside) 
 
 R. Can any of you tell me where my child Ethel ! 
 is? 
 
22 TWO CITIES. 
 
 (Enter Muchicatawxey, in great excitement, from 
 garden.) 
 
 Much. Oh, ray stars ! — Oh, clear me ! Miss Ethel 
 has been and gone and run away — with only one small 
 trunk — and that Mr. Brooke — and a carriage ! {sensa- 
 tion) 
 
 R. (seizing her by the arm) What do you say ? 
 Speak, woman ! 
 
 Much. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! she's run away with 
 him — she's run away with- him — she's left her poor 
 Muchicatawney, and run away with him ! Oh, dear! 
 oh, dear! 
 
 Miss P. Oh, dear! — I shall faint — I know I shall — 
 Is there nobody — to — to — (looking around and find- 
 ing herself unnoticed, goes to seat under tree at L, and 
 faints upon it) 
 
 R. Can this be true ! will, anybody go to the sta- 
 bles? 
 
 C. I will 
 
 R. My light wagon — you understand — the black 
 mares ! 
 
 C. I understand you. Come, Clyne, you are in the 
 way, and so am I. (exit Chittt and Clyne by 
 garden) 
 
 D. My dear friend ! 
 
 R. The villain ! I will follow him to the ends of 
 the earth 
 
 D. My dear friend — I loved your daughter — she 
 did not think of me ! — and I can not hope to gain her 
 love ! — but I will never rest, night or day — so help me, 
 Heaven! — until I save her from that scoundrel ! 
 
 R. (grasps his hand) I thank you more than words 
 can say — we will go together! (exit) 
 
 D. So help me, Heaven ! while I have life, I will 
 follow him, and avenge her! And I have worshipped 
 her! I would have brought her an honorable love — 
 but she has chosen, instead, the embraces of a liber- 
 tine! It is only at the feet of those who prize them 
 not, that fortune flings her choicest favors ! 
 
 (CURTAIN.) 
 
TWO CITIES. 23 
 
 ACT SECOND. 
 
 Paris. Mr. Brooke's apartments on the Boulevart 
 Haussmann elegantly furnished. Mantel at R., 
 folding doors at C, entrance at R. Bijou table 
 with decanter and glasses at f. c; tete-a-tete at 
 l. f. Brooke discovered, leaning on mantel, in 
 evening dress. Edith, in evening dress, sitting on 
 the tete-a-tete. 
 
 E. Ah ! George ! you will not leave me again to- 
 night! you have been away from me every night 
 this week. 
 
 B. But, my dear, you have always had so much 
 better company — you know ! 
 
 E. Better ! (reproachfully) why do you stand there ? 
 come and sit here by me. (he scats himself at her side, 
 they embrace) What do you mean by "better," 
 George ? 
 
 B. Why, you must grow tired of seeing so much 
 of me ! 
 
 E. As if I ever could see too much of you ! Do you 
 judge me by yourself, George ? Are yon growing 
 tired of seeing so much of me ? Buc no, I did not 
 mean to do you an injustice ! 
 
 B. (kissing Iter) Why, no! no! I only meant to 
 say that, now we are in Paris, I should be a very 
 selfish man, if I monopolized all your time. I want 
 you to see this wonderful city — its society — its man- 
 ners. 
 
 E. But not without you, George — I don't want to 
 see it without you ! 
 
 B. H'm ! — that's kind of you — I mean that's all 
 right. Only in Paris, you know, a man and his wife 
 shouldn't always be gadding about together. 
 
 E. Gadding ! (drawing away from him) That's 
 not a French word, is it? At any rate, whether it 
 *s or not, it don't seem to be exactly the word to 
 
24 TWO CITIES. 
 
 use between man and wife, before they've been 
 married a month. 
 
 B. A month ! by Jove ! it seems like ten years ! 
 (aside) There, now ! I was only joking, you know, 
 
 I only meant to say that when one is in Rome 
 
 E. But we are not in Rome. Oh ! George, if you 
 knew how lonely I am when you leave me so 
 long ! 
 
 B. (hissing her) Therej there, now! My dearest 
 Ethel, yon do me a great wrong, indeed you do. I 
 was only trying to say, in my way, that I didn't want 
 to be selfish and monopolize you all the time. Come, 
 now, I won't be jealous. I want you to act just as if 
 you were a young — I mean an unmarried — lady, and 
 
 have a good time — so that when we return 
 
 E. Return! oh, George ! when will we return? 
 I know that papa must have forgiven us by this time 
 
 — and I am the only one he has in all the world 
 
 B. Well, and if you go back to him, what am I to 
 do? 
 
 E. As if I should ever leave you, my darling ! No ! 
 But we will go together — we will live with papa, and 
 be his children. Only think how lonely he must be ! 
 He has been so good to me — he has been both father 
 and mother to me since poor mamma died ! My 
 dear mother ! lean scarcely remember her! Only 
 think, George ! I was in her arms when we were 
 thrown from the carnage together — and then — and 
 then — I saw her lying on the bed, so still and white — 
 and then I never saw her any more — but Muchica- 
 tawney — poor old Muchicatawney — used to tell me 
 that she had gone to Heaven, and that some day I 
 
 would go 
 
 B. To Heaven — but you are in Heaven now, or 
 ought to be. They say that good Americans, when 
 they die, go to Paris ! 
 
 E. I haven't any Heaven, George, dear, when you 
 go away from me, and stay so long! But no, we 
 wont talk about such serious things — and I want 
 to tell you a funny thing. Do you remember that 
 little song from the *' Bohemian Girl," that I used to 
 
TWO CITIES. 25 
 
 play for you upon the little upright piano in my own 
 room at home ? 
 
 B. Oh ! yes — the — the — let me see — it was — the 
 cottage beside the — or love in a — there, hang it! now 
 I've got her off again ! (aside) 
 
 E. Why, George! don't you know that song," Then 
 You'll Kemember Me ? " You used to like it so much 
 — or pretended to — you used to say it was your favor- 
 ite song! 
 
 B. Oh ! yes, now I remember it very well ! 
 
 E. Well, George, do you know that one evening, 
 when I was sitting in this room, all alone, thinking 
 of you, and. wondering when you were coming back — 
 and crying — yes, I was crying, too — (he caresses her) 
 Oh ! not so much as that ! not mucn, but just a little 
 bit, you know, George dear, what should I hear hut 
 just that little air played — oh ! so tenderly — on a 
 harp. At first I thought that you had been arrang- 
 ing a clever little surprise for me, and I listened — 
 and it seemed so sweet. But by and by I opened the 
 window, from where the sound seemed to come, and 
 stepped out upon the balcony. And. do you believe 
 it — it was only a poor little Savoyard boy ! — so small 
 and poor — but playing — oh ! so beautifully ! And 
 when I threw him a few sous, and he looked up. he 
 said something that sounded like - bella Signorita 
 Americana!" — and then he played it again — ami 
 then he played ' ' Sweet Home " — and, do you know, 
 I had to go in — I was crying just like a child ! 
 
 B. He showed his good sense in not striking up 
 " Yankee Doodle ! " [ts wonderful how quickly the 
 little devils pick out an American ! 
 
 E. Don't call him a little devil, George ! —and I 
 was going to tell you that he's been here most every 
 evening — and he plays always " Swe^t Home," and 
 "Then You'll Remember Me" — and — why listen, 
 George, why there he is now ! How oddly it hap- 
 pens! — just as I was speaking of him ! 
 
 (^4 harp is heard, playing the air from the opera of the 
 "Bohemian Girl" &c, &c.) 
 
26 TWO CITIES. 
 
 B. {rising) Absurd ! Intolerable ! — I have no . 
 objection to your being romantic, and all that sort 
 of thing — but I hope, at least, you won't make your- 
 self ridiculous ! I wonder how you can encourage 
 such things, Ethel ! 
 
 E. Oh! don't, please don't, drive him away! I do 
 so love to hear the music I knew and loved in my 
 own home ! Music is like a universal language to 
 me ! No matter what strange words ring in my ears, 
 the music is always the same! 
 
 B. But, Edith, our friends will be arriving 
 presently, and it will be ridiculous if they find a 
 dirty little blackguard of a Savoyard serenading us 
 for a sou. But be it as you say. (leaning on tJ/e 
 mantel and making signs of impatience) Perhaps if 
 we don't encourage him, the little beggar will be off 
 of his own accord, (aside) 
 
 E. George, will you forgive me if I say something 
 to you ? 
 
 B. Of course. What is it? (the music ceases) 
 
 E. Then come and sit down by 'me again, (he 
 crosses and sits at Iter side) Do you know, George, 
 I don't like the people who come here to see us ? 
 
 B. I can assure you, Ethel, that nobody comes 
 here — that I would permit nobody to come here, 
 whom it is not perfectly right and proper that 
 you should receive and meet — whom, in fact, I don't 
 think it is desirable that you should receive and meet. 
 
 E. But, George, I — I don't want to refuse to do 
 anything that you would have me do — but I don't 
 think, if you knew 
 
 B. Oh ! I suppose you mean that because I am 
 not a Parisian born, I don't know best. Well, then, 
 ask anybody else — ask advice of 
 
 E. Why, George — do you counsel me to ask 
 advice — don't you remember your own motto ? 
 
 B. Not I— what motto ? 
 
 E. It was your favorite in those dear old times. Do 
 you remember once, when I wanted to ask advice, and 
 said that old heads were the wisest — don't you 
 remember what you said then ? 
 
TWO CITIES. 27 
 
 B. No ; what did I say ? 
 
 E. You said, George, you said, yes, old heads are the 
 wisest, but young hearts are the warmest. 
 
 B. Well, so they are, aren't they ? 
 
 E. And you told me to ask only my own heart, 
 whether 1 would leave my home and my poor, poor, 
 lonely old father — and cling only to you — and follow 
 you — oh ! so far away — across the seas. And I did 
 ask it, and it said " follow," and I have followed 
 you — away over the ocean, away from my father and 
 my home — to a land of strangers. And now — now — 
 you go away and leave me all alone in this str..nge 
 land — among strange people — and oh ! George, it 
 seems sometimes as if my heart would break! 
 (sobs) 
 
 B. There, there ! (caressing her) Don't give way 
 — you know, Ethel, it was only because I thought 
 you would like the variety. It was only because I 
 always* think first of your happiness — you know — 
 before everything else — upon my word I do, you know 
 — now, come tell me — who don't you like ? 
 
 E. I — I don't like Madamoiselle Disblance, nor 
 Madam Delapierre. Somehow or other, I don't think 
 they're quite — quite respectful. And then I really 
 detest that Monsieur Latour — and that odious Mon- 
 sieur Macrobe. 
 
 B. I don't care what you say to Disblance, or to 
 old Delapierre, though it is well enough to treat them 
 decently. But Macrobe and Latour are my friends. 
 They are gentlemen — I'll answer for that. And we 
 have business relations which make them particularly 
 valuable to me. So 1 hope that — when they come 
 here — you'll do everything to make it pleasant and 
 agreeable for them. 
 
 E. Well, I'll try, but I dislike them very much 
 indeed. But I'll try, for your sake, George — and, 
 George — it's very funny — but did you ever fancy that 
 Monsieur Macrobe has a striking resemblance to that 
 young Father Rex that married us ? 
 
 B. Can she suspect anything ? (aside) Well, no — 
 but now that I think of it, perhaps he does. But 
 
28 TWO CITIES. 
 
 then Father Rex was a Frenchman — and I suppose 
 all Frenchmen look more or less alike. 
 
 E. He has the same features, and very much the 
 same accent, though, ,as you say, they are both 
 Frenchmen. Bur, George, I — Fd rather not have to 
 receive him when you are not here. I don't like his 
 manners. He really treats me with too much famil- 
 iarity. 1 don't like it at all. 
 
 13. I can not regulate Monsieur Macrobe's man- 
 ners. His countrymen are all alike. Frenchmen' 
 must be Frenchmen. They mean nothing but polite- 
 ness, Ethel. (Enter SEE v ANT, K.) 
 
 Servant. Mademoiselle Disblance; Monsieur La- 
 tour ! 
 
 (Enter Latour and Disblance at R. Madam Dela- 
 pierre following them.) 
 
 Mons. L. Ah! my dear Brooke ! Madam, (bowing) 
 I am radiant at seeing you. 
 
 Mdlle. D. Bon soir, Monsieur. (crossing to 
 Ethel) My dear Madame Brooke, I am charmed 
 to see that you are in such perfection of health. 
 Oh, no! I can not sit. My carriage is below. Mon- 
 sieur Latour and I have arrived to ask that you will 
 come with us to the Champs for a drive. All the 
 world is there, and so is his wife. Monsieur the 
 President is there! Oh ! these are not the Champs 
 of the Emperor! But then it will do very well, very 
 well. Mon Dien ! We still have horses, and we still 
 live ! Dieu merci ! It is still that we live ! 
 
 B. Yes, Ethel, I wish that you would accompany 
 Mademoiselle. (Enter servant) 
 
 Servant. Monsieur Maerobe! 
 
 ( Exit. Enter Macrobe) 
 
 Mac. Ah, my dear boy ! (bowing) Madame, I am 
 your slave ! 
 
 B. Macrobe, I am sorry, but the fact is, I am 
 particularly engaged on business this evening, and 
 must leave you — and madame here is just about 
 accompanying Mademoiselle Disblance for a drive, 
 so 
 
TWO CITIES. 29 
 
 E. (aside to Bkooke) My dear, I certainly shall 
 not go out to drive with Mademoiselle Disblance, on 
 the Champs, or anywhere else, and I am surprised that 
 you should desire it ! (returns to tete-a-tete, and sits) 
 
 B. It was only for your health, my dear, that I 
 wished you to take the air. I . miss the roses that 
 were in your cheeks two months ago. And you may 
 be very sure that I shall never urge you to do any- 
 thing improper, (to her) 
 
 (Crosses to l. and converses with Mdlle. Dis- 
 blance. Latour and Macrobe converse apart 
 by the mantel at R.) 
 
 E. (aside) The roses in my cheeks will never bloom 
 in these alien lands. He did not dare to say that he 
 would leave me again to-night, until these people came. 
 
 Mac. (approaching Ethel) Is this my reception, 
 Madame ? Do you not recognize me ? 
 
 E. Monsieur Macrobe, you are on terms of in- 
 timacy with my husband. I have to request that 
 you will address him, and not me! (Macrobe seats 
 himself upon tete-a-tete) 
 
 B. Well, good-night, Ethel! Mademoiselle, you' 
 will prevail on my wife here to accompany you on 
 your drive. Monsieurs, you will pardon me ! I have 
 an engagement. A call of business. Adieu! (Exit) 
 
 E. (rising) Mademoiselle Disblance, and you, 
 Monsieur Latour, will, I hope, excuse me; but I 
 can not accompany you to the Champs Elysees this 
 evening. I have a head-ache — and (aside) a heart- 
 ache. 
 
 Mons. T. That is because you are too much within 
 doors! It is the mistake all you American ladies 
 make. You preserve the complexion at the expense 
 of the life. 
 
 Mdlle. D. Yes, you do — indeed ! indeed you do 
 Look at the English ladies — true, they have no com- 
 plexions. But then, how healthy ! they are always 
 out o(' doors — they ride, they jump the — the — what 
 do you call it that the ladies jump in England, Mon- 
 sieur Latour? 
 
 Mons. L. The hurdy-gurdies, mademoiselle 
 
 3* 
 
30 TWO CITIES. 
 
 Mdlle. D. Ah! yes that is it ! They jump the 
 hurdy-gurdies — and they chase the — the — what is 
 it that the ladies hunt in England, Monsieur Latour ? 
 
 Moists. L. The sheep, Mademoiselle ! 
 
 Mdlle. D. Ah ! yes, that is it — and they hunt the 
 sheep — the delightful rural sheep — all day — and they 
 walk every day. How many miles is it the ladies in 
 England walk every day, Monsieur Latour ? 
 
 Moists. L. One — two — three hundred miles, mad- 
 emoiselle. 
 
 Mdlle. D. Ah ! yes. And they walk, one — two — 
 three hundred miles, my clear Madame Brooke — and 
 they are all the day in the sun, and the dew — and 
 the — what is it besides the sun and the dew that the 
 English ladies are always in, Monsieur Latour? 
 
 Mons. L. Ah! the open air, Mademoiselle! 
 
 Mdlle. D. Ah ! yes, yes, and they are all day in 
 the sun and the dew and the open air — my dear 
 Madame Brooke — and that makes them, oh ! so 
 ruddy and well. But as to the complexions ! — bah! 
 . E. Nevertheless, 1 hope you will pardon me, but 
 I really do uot care to accompany you. I know you 
 will not insist ! 
 
 Moists. L. Ah ! no! we will not insist. But the 
 Champs are very gay to-day ! 
 
 Mad. D. Ah ! you should have seen them under 
 the Empire, my dear Madame Brooke. Paris was 
 the world then, and the carriages, were so crowded 
 together that one might walk over the tops of them, 
 from the Arch to the Cascade in the Bois — and, but 
 mafoi ! Monsieur Macrobe there is overhearing us ! 
 Monsieur, my dear Madame Brooke, you must know, 
 is a Republican — red, red, very red — he will report me 
 to the head quarters, and will be for guilotining me 
 to-morrow ! 
 
 Mac. I would guilotine no Imperialists, they have 
 not blood enough ! 
 
 Mad. D. The wretch! the satirist ! He would 
 have the streets running crimson with blood! He 
 has no blood himself, therefore he does not know how 
 hard it is to lose it when one has it ! The Eepublic is 
 
TWO CITIES. 31 
 
 as economical of blood as it is of the water at Ver- 
 sailles, and of everything else. 
 
 E. I hope that I shall not detain you from your 
 ride. Monsieur Macrobe here, will be charmed to fill 
 my place in your pretty carriage, and you will have a 
 delightful drive ! 
 
 Mac. Nevertheless, Monsieur Macrobe here will 
 not fill it ! Monsieur Macrobe has other business to 
 attend to. {aside) 
 
 Mdlle. D. Alas, then! we must depart. Mon- 
 sieur Latour, will I take your arm! Au revoir, my 
 dear Madame Brooke. 
 
 E. Cfood evening, Mademoiselle, good evening, 
 monsieur, (exit Latour, Disblance, and Dela- 
 pierre.) 
 
 So she has left me again — and alone with that bold, 
 and wicked man. I can not remain here ! (aside) Mon- 
 sieur Macrobe, I hope you, too, will excuse me, I 
 am not well 
 
 (As she is about to leave the room, Macrobe rushes 
 forward, and places himself before her.) 
 
 Mac. Nay ! nay ! do not go ! The days have 
 dragged like years since I have seen you ! 
 
 E. Why, monsieur, you were here only yesterday at 
 six ! 
 
 Mac. And what is that to one who would be al- 
 ways at your side ! 
 
 E. (laughing) Ah! Monsieur Macrobe, you French 
 people excel the world in making these small speeches 
 that sound so well, and mean so very little. Now, in 
 my country, when a gentleman tells a lady that he 
 would be always at her side, they think that he is in 
 love with her ! 
 
 Mac. (attempting to seize her hand) And what 
 would you say if I told you that I was in love with 
 her — with you ? 
 
 E. With her! I would say that you were presum- 
 ing a great deal upon your being a Frenchman, Mon- 
 sieur Macrobe ! And I should say, further, that she 
 was suffering an indignity, and an insult to which 
 she was unaccustomed — and that her husband 
 
32 TWO CITIES. 
 
 Mac. Her husband ! Your husband ! Unaccus- 
 tomed! Ah! mademoiselle, you are indeed unaccus- 
 tomed to such love — to such worship as mine! He 
 whom you call your husband, makes love to others — 
 
 I who adore you, who kneel to you (he is about 
 
 to kneel) 
 
 E. Sir ! you are mad ! He whom / call my husband ? 
 
 Mac. Ah ! yes ! he whom you call by that name — 
 see ! (takes off false moustaches and imperial) Do 
 you know me now ? 
 
 E. Father Rex ! (she staggers forward, and sinks 
 upon the tete a tete) 
 
 Mac. The same ! Forgive me, angelic lady, for 
 playing the priest over your unhallowed nuptials. It 
 was against my will, tor I was in his power ; your 
 enemy then — in that I aided him to betray your inno- 
 cence and loveliness. But I will make atonement 
 for all. Have I not made atonement already in the 
 remorse that I have suffered ! — the wakeful nights, 
 when your image has been my companion — the long 
 days of penitence, when I could think of nothing but 
 your loveliness which I had so wronged and brought 
 to dishonor ! I make atonement now! See, I fall 
 at your feet ! (kneels) I offer you here my own honor- 
 able love — the love of a gentleman. I offer you a 
 lawful marriage. I love you, Mademoiselle Ethel — 
 I have loved you from the moment I saw you first in 
 your father's garden, with your false lover, when you 
 saw me not! Oh! cast me not away! Castaway, 
 rather, the false lover, and take the true! 
 
 E. Leave me ! oh ! leave me ! (he rises) Can this be 
 true? oh ! George, my love — my life — can this be true? 
 
 Mac. Do not refuse me. Take time to reflect. 
 
 E. (rising) Sir, I loathe you, and despise you. Will 
 you leave me! 
 
 Mac. No ? but reflect! — recall your position 
 here 
 
 E. To which you have brought me! No sir, I will 
 uot think of it. I will not believe it. 
 
 Mac. Do not answer me now. Pause, I entreat 
 you; take time to consider. 
 
TWO CITIES. 33 
 
 E. Did I think of if a thousand years my answer 
 would 'be the same as now. I loathe you and de- 
 spise yon. Will you leave me now ? 
 
 {going to the bell) 
 
 Mac. Stay. Stay, I entreat you. For your own 
 happiness, for your own good — hear me one word 
 more. 
 
 E. Well, sir, proceed. 
 
 Mac. Madam, I am a gentleman of France. lam 
 Chevalier of the Legion of Honour. My apartments 
 are on the Boulevart des Capuchins. I am rich, as 
 men say. There are five of my apartments en suite. 
 The man whom you call your husband has another 
 home than this ; and there, as here, he has a friend. 
 But, unlike you, she does not call him husband. The 
 times are closing around you. It can not be long 
 before the doors of the American Consulate, the last 
 refuge of your friendless countrymen, will he shut in 
 your face. Beflect. My apartments — they are num- 
 ber twenty-five in the Boulevart I mentioned — are at 
 your service. You reject my honorable love ? Good! 
 I was rash and hasty, perhaps, when I offered it. 
 Come at your pleasure, and make my home yours.. 
 Ah, you will find everything in excellent taste! 
 
 E. Sir ! do you know to whom you speak ! 
 
 Mac. (bowing) Well, Mademoiselle, to whom do I 
 speak, and to what do 1 s])eak ! 
 
 E. To whom, and to what ! Oh! Heaven, in what 
 have I sinned that this punishment should overtake 
 me ! Did I not love him! Oh, God! did 1 not love 
 him! Did I not love him enough! (aside) Sir, I 
 have only to ask you what I have already asked you 
 twice before. Leave me! If you are a gentleman 
 and a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, as you say 
 you are — leave me! You have time, I am afraid, to 
 leave Paris before my husband can know of (his, and 
 seek you out. But be that as it may ; leave me ! 
 
 {pointing to the doors at c. ) 
 
 Mac. Ha! ha! that is a bonmot! your husband ! 
 That is a good one ! Why, my dear Miss lleynart, your 
 husband, as you call him, does know of this! Nay, 
 
34 TWO CITIES. 
 
 more. I made the proposition I have made to you 
 to-night, at his own particular request and appoint- 
 ment, and he withdrew to give me this opportu- 
 nity. 
 
 E. Oh, my God ! (aside) (standing erect and point- 
 ing to the door) Leave me, sir ! 
 
 Mac. Ha! ha ! (he hesitates, and finally walks 
 sloioly towards the folding doors at c. There he hesi- 
 tates, turns to Ethel, who still stands pointing to the 
 doors) Good-evening, Madame, (exit) 
 
 E. (throwing herself upon the tHe a tete, and sobbing 
 convulsively) Oh, my God! and it was for this that I 
 left my father's house! Oh, mother! thank Heaven 
 that you died before you could know of your child's 
 shame ! 
 
 (^/e;- Seevant, r.) 
 
 Servant. Madame Delapierre! (exit) 
 
 E. (rising) I cannot see Madame Delapierre. 
 
 Mad. D. (from ivitliout) Ah, hut I must see her! 
 I have that to say which is vastly important! (she en- 
 ters, r.) Ah, my clear Madame Brooke ! I have come 
 with news the worst, the most dire ! Can you call 
 somebody to give me a glass of water ? I have run 
 so fast to tell you ! 
 
 E. Sit down. I will pour you some wine myself, 
 since it must come ! I am ready ; (aside) speak it now. 
 I am listening ! 
 
 (Ethel pours wine from the decanter on the bijou 
 table, and brings a glassful to Madam Delapierre, who 
 seats herself upon the fete a tete, and sips it slowly) 
 
 Mad. D. Oh ! my clear young lady ! do not think 
 that I do not weep with you ; do not think that I am 
 not sorry for you! Ah! (drinks) my own husband 
 did so too. He left me one evening, thirty years ago, 
 to get a cigar he said — and I have never laid eyes 
 upon him since. He took time to select a good one. 
 (drinks) Ah! they are all alike — these men! the vil- 
 lains! I know them! (drinks) They are all alike! 
 We spoil them by petting them and kissing them, 
 until they imagine (drinks) they are too good for any 
 one woman, the monsters! (drinks) 
 
TWO CITIES. 35 
 
 E. Quick, woman ! what is it ? 
 
 Mad. D. What? Oh, nothing! {drinhs) only that 
 your husband is at this mome7it driving in the Bois 
 de Boulogne in an open carriage with Mademoiselle 
 Maclelon; and all the world says he is mad about her. 
 
 E. And who is she? 
 
 Mad. D. Who is she ? (drinhs) Ah ! Mademoiselle 
 Madelon is a (drinhs) — well, she is a star ! a star that 
 shines for gold, and for those who have it. Last year 
 (drinhs) — last year all Paris was at her feet. To-day, 
 Paris has a new star, and laughs at the folly of the 
 young American who worships at the shrine of a 
 queen dethroned ! Can I have some more wine — or 
 else some water, with a little ice in it ? Ma foi — but 
 I have run all the way to tell you this! 
 
 E. I will take your glass. (Jills and returns it) 
 And now, good Madame Delapierre, I must think of 
 this, alone. 
 
 Mad. D. Alone! my life! can I leave you after run- 
 ning for a mile! First, at least, I must drink my 
 wine ! • 
 
 E. Pardon me for my selfishness. But your news! 
 I am — I am so excited — you have made a terrible 
 mistake — ( goes to Ute a fete, and falls heavily upon it) 
 
 Mad. D. Forward, (aside) Ah ! yes ; a terrible mis- 
 take, (drinhs) They take it hard at first, these poor 
 girls; that is the way (drinhs) we all begin. But 
 (drinhs) — but. we get used to it. My dear, will you 
 fill my glass again — that's a good — (she catches Ethel's 
 eye) Pardon me, Madame, I will help myself, (she 
 goes to the table and pours out more wine) Oh, me ! I 
 am faint — (drinhs) I positively can not run all that 
 way back again — I really think I deserve a cab. I 
 wonder if she'll have the thoughtfulness to offer to 
 pay for one. (fills from the decanter and drinhs again) 
 Bah ! no ! not she ! She's immersed in her own selfish 
 emotion. That's all the thanks one gets for running 
 off one's legs to bring good news ! (drinhs) 
 
 E. (aside) I will be brave. The day I left my home 
 I was enveloped m a heavy widow's shawl and long veil 
 that entirely concealed my features. In them I was 
 
36 TWO CITIES. 
 
 married, and not until the pilot-boat bad left the steam- 
 er on which we crossed, did I take them off. George 
 would have had me throw them into the sea, but some 
 strange fancy that I might need them again possessed 
 me, and I kept them by me. Alas! that time has come. 
 And now I will be brave, (crosses to l., and exit) 
 
 Mad. D. That's a ceremonious way to leave a guest 
 now! I wonder if that is an American custom ! I 
 was just about to borrow a five-franc piece to carry 
 my weary old legs back home again ! I wonder if I 
 could find anything like a five-franc piece about here 
 anywhere. Ah, I see something! (goes to the man- 
 tel and opens a small box) Ah ! a work box ! and 
 here is a purse ! I wonder if I mightn't borrow just 
 enough to pay my cabby ? I can explain to Madame. 
 Poor Madame! This comes of coddling a man, and 
 kissing him, and making him think that every look 
 and every smile of his is as precious as a prince's. He 
 very naturally tries to see if they meet the same val- 
 uation elsewhere! Everybody knows, of course, that 
 a prince's favors must be distributed. Bah ! Isn't 
 that the way they all do? Didn't Delapierre run 
 away too ? And wouldn't I just like to find that 
 man ? Ugh ! I was in love with him thirty years ago. 
 I'd love him now. if I could catch him (opening the 
 purse) Napoleons! Ciel! I am sorry, Madame, 
 but I have no change, not a sou ! Ah ! what a pretty, 
 convenient little coin a Napoleon is ! Pieces de vingt 
 francs I suppose I should say now ; but there's no- 
 body around ! Bah ! they've been Louis d'ors, Na- 
 poleons, pieces de vingt francs, Louis d'ors, Na- 
 poleons, and pieces de vingt francs again, in my time. 
 What a little comedy it all is! Well, allons, my good 
 people of Paris, who believe so much in words! They 
 pay for my dinners all the same, whatever you call 
 them. Here are one, two, three, why, here are 
 twenty, I do believe! I'll take — hark! what's that! 
 I'll take six. I hear a footstep! Bah ! I fear I 
 won't have time to count my six ! (takes purse, and 
 exit r.) 
 
 (Enter Macrobe and Servant at folding doors.) 
 
TWO CITIES. 37 
 
 Mac. I wish to be informed particularly of every 
 movement of mademoiselle, (gives servant money) 
 Mind, now, of every step she takes, and of everything 
 she does. If she goes out, send me word " she 
 goes out," and follow her. If she rests within, send 
 me word "she rests within." I will know every- 
 thing ! When you wish more money, come to me. 
 
 (Exeunt at c. Enter Ethel at R., in black, with veil 
 down. ) 
 
 E. And now I must say good-bye to these rooms, 
 where I thought to be so happy ! (throwing aside her 
 veil) I must leave them forever, to follow him. I 
 will follow him if I can find strength. I will pray 
 for strength. (She staggers to reach the tele a tete, 
 but falls fainting) 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 ACT THIRD. 
 
 Scene I. — Paris. The Champs Elysees at early twi- 
 light. Lamps in the trees. Kiosques, with bands 
 playing, r. is an open air cafe, with guests at the 
 small tables, sipping Absinthe. Parisians and 
 strangers strolling backwards and forwards. 
 Bonnes with children before a Punchinello, or 
 Punch, and Judy. In the distance tetotums and 
 children's swings are seen in operation. Vendors 
 of balloons and small wares circulate in and out 
 among the guests. Also cocoa and caramel sellers. 
 Waiters, gendarmes, peasants, gamins, &c, &c, 
 &c. 
 
 Enter Mr. Reynart and Dai/ton, who seat them- 
 selves at an empty table at R. A waiter brings 
 them Absinthe and water, which they prepare, and 
 sit sipping. 
 R. This is a scene such as one finds nowhere else 
 
 in all the world. I wonder if these Parisians toil, and 
 4 
 
38 TWO CITIES. 
 
 think, and grow gray, and have cares and sorrows, like 
 the rest of us. 
 
 D. It is the business of Parisians to enjoy them- 
 selves. And all strangers who come here very soon find 
 themselves as busy at it as the Parisians. I fancy this 
 people have their cares and sorrows, but very few that 
 absinthe and the Champs Elysees will not lighten. 
 
 R. Absinthe may burn up the brain, but if it light- 
 ens the heart, what matter ? Ah! I fear it can not 
 lighten mine. 
 
 D. Nor mine, my friend. But, remember, we are 
 on a secret search, and we must take every precau- 
 tion to do as other people do. It will never do to let 
 our faces be as dreary as our souls. 
 
 Enter Isabelle, with a basket of flowers. She 
 distributes flowers among those present, and lays 
 boutonieres before Mr. Reynart and Dal- 
 ton. 
 
 R. What are these, my good girl ? 
 
 Isa. They are yours, Messieurs. 
 
 (she continues to distribute flowers) 
 
 R. Does she not take sous for her flowers? 
 
 D. Ah! no! not she ! Diamonds, sometimes, but 
 never sous. That is Isabelle, the flower-girl of the 
 Jockey Club. She is a character, and the fashion ; 
 and, in Paris, to be the fashion is to have fame and 
 fortune. They say that she is very rich, and has un- 
 told diamonds, and pieces of costly jewelry, which 
 emperors and princes have presented her. She asks 
 for nothing, as you see. She gives you her flowers, 
 and you give to her, or not, as you fancy. It simply 
 became the fashion to give her precious things, and 
 so everybody has done it for many years. She is 
 wealthy now, and proud. But she never gives any- 
 thing but flowers for her gold. She is never familiar. 
 Let us wear these. Do, my friend. It is not a mock- 
 ery — only a disguise — of grief, (they put the bouton- 
 ieres in their button-holes) Do you notice the large 
 number of peasant girls in white ? That is an old 
 French custom, dating from far back among the 
 
TWO CITIES. 39 
 
 Louis. This is a Friday ; and on every Friday 
 those who become brides array themselves in white, 
 and go to the Bois ; then on their way back, they stop 
 here with their husbands, and walk in and out 
 among the shows. 
 
 R. I wish I were as light-hearted as they. This is 
 an endless and a hopeless search. 
 
 D. Neither endless nor hopeless, my friend — except 
 for me! He seeks his daughter, and someday he will 
 find her. But my search is both endless and hope- 
 less, for 1 seek her heart, (aside) No, no ! my friend, 
 we will not falter yet ; we thought so in New York, 
 perhaps, three thousand miles away, and yet we 
 started in pursuit. Now, we are very near to them, 
 for we know that they are in Paris. The French po- 
 lice are all but infallible. The entries in the Pre- 
 fect's books must surely lead to their discovery. We 
 have the clue — we must not despair now. 
 
 R. But think of it ! The false marriage ! Think 
 what that search must be to a father's heart, wherein, 
 if he find all he seek, he finds his daughter a deceived 
 and dishonored thing ! 
 
 D. Deceived, yes! but dishonored, never! Re- 
 member, sir, who it was, long before our time, who for- 
 gave the sins of her who sinned because she loved too 
 much ! Surely the angels blot out with their tears the 
 sins of too much love ! Your daughter can never be 
 dishonored in my eyes. 
 
 R. I know your worth and truth, my friend, and if 
 the whole world had been such as you, we would 
 never have be^n here on this errand But think what 
 the police told us of him — and what he is! Joint 
 proprietor of the most famous gambling-hell in all 
 Paris, and in all Europe, where more fortunes are lost 
 in a night than are heaped up in a generation — and 
 a suicide, too, for every fortune ! He is not a croupier 
 himself, because he has graduated and gone higher — 
 or lower — than that. Oh ! my Ethel ! If such as 
 you could have left me for such a man as that, what 
 father is safe in a daughter's love! 
 
 (A cocoa-man approaches with his can upon his back.) 
 
40 TWO CITIES. 
 
 Cocoa M. AYill Messieurs be pleased that I shall 
 serve them with my cocoa ? Ah, no ? Pardon me, 
 Messieurs. (lie passes by) 
 
 A vendor of balloons approaches with several red 
 balloons tied at the end of a single string. Sev- 
 
 ; era! gamins accost him, and engage him in con- 
 versation, while one of them, ivith a pair of 
 scissors, cuts the string, and the balloons go soar- 
 ing upward. The vendor dances around, and 
 makes every gesticulation of frenzy and despair. 
 Gendarmes approach, and chase gamins off the 
 stage. One of the latter, however, while the gen- 
 darmes are pursuing his companions and him- 
 self, approaches the cocoa-man, and turns the 
 faucets of his can, so that the cocoa escapes. 
 The cocoa -man comes forward, gesticulating, and 
 finally succeeds in attracting the attention of the 
 proprietor of the restaurant, who closes them. 
 
 While the proprietor of the Punch and Judy is 
 endeavoring to call attention to his performance, 
 the band strikes up the air from " The Bohemian 
 Girl," "Then you'll remember me? and enter 
 Brooke, with Madeloist on his arm, l. 
 
 B. Shall we go to the carriage now, Madelon ? 
 
 Mad. Ah! no! not yet! Let us continue to walk, 
 and then you can tell me all over again how dearly 
 you love me. Ma foil but it is a story it amuses one 
 to hear ! 
 
 B. And it is a story I shall never cease to repeat. 
 
 Mad. Ah! are you sure, then, that you will never 
 cease to repeat it ? are you so sure of that ? Is not 
 that what the men always say to us? But when they 
 see that we have really come to believe them, they go 
 away, and say it no more forever. 
 * B. And this is what you think of me ? 
 
 Mad. Are you not a man ? 
 
 B. Madelon, can a man say more than I have said 
 to you ? Fly with me to England. I am rich even 
 in that rich country, and I love you — do you ask me 
 to say more than that ? 
 
TWO CITIES. 41 
 
 (Band still playing the same tune, but more loudly) 
 Mad. Ah ! I ask a great deal, but 
 
 (Enter Ethel opposite them, dressed in black, and 
 with her veil down, r. She sees Brooke, and 
 throws herself before him.) 
 
 E. Oh! George! George! 
 
 (Reynart and Dalton spring to their feet. 
 Brooke sees them, and draws a revolver. Dal- 
 ton and Reynart each draw theirs. Brooke 
 fires twice, and wounds Dalton, who drops his 
 revolver, and falls, but almost instantly recovers 
 himself, lifts his revolver with his left hand, 
 and fires. Brooke then fires a second shot at 
 Reynart, who falls dead, and advances upon 
 Dalton who shoots him dead at three paces, 
 with his revolver in his left hand. Sensation. 
 Enter gendarmes. A crowd assemble.) 
 
 Mad. Ah! Mon Dieu ! what is this? Ah! I see 
 that I am de trop here. Besides (looking at her watch) 
 I have an engagement, and it is just on the hour! 
 
 (exit, R.) 
 
 (Ethel kneels and takes Brooke's head upon her 
 lap, throwing aside her veil.) 
 
 E. George! George! could you have known how 
 I loved you, you could not have come to this. Oh ! 
 you must have loved me a little, George! when you 
 besought me, in the home ol' my childhood, to follow 
 you so far away. And now ! — 0, George George, I 
 would have saved you this ! 
 
 (Ethel on her knees, holding Brooke's head in her 
 lap. D alton standing over her, and two gendar- 
 mes with their hands on D Alton's shoulders, and 
 the various persons on the stage grouped around 
 them. Enter Macrobe, followed by two atten- 
 dants, r.; at his gesture, these attendants seize 
 
 Ethel, and drag her away ; attracted by her 
 4* 
 
42 TWO CITIES. 
 
 shrieks, other gendarmes approach', Dalton at- 
 tempting to rescue Ethel, is detained by his 
 captors. ) 
 
 Mac. She is my daughter, gentlemen ; my servants 
 are taking her to her carriage. As for him (pointing 
 to Dalton), take care of him. You had better question 
 him as to this murder, which has excited my poor 
 
 girl's nerves. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 Scene II. — Rooms at the apartments oj M. Mac- 
 robe, sumptuously furnished. Doors at l. and 
 R. Table, with flowers, books, bell, dec, R. c. 
 Piano at L. c. Window at c. Mannette, with a 
 duster, arranging the furniture, ete. 
 
 Man. (stooping over the flowers) What charming 
 flowers this morning! How Monsieur, my master, 
 does dote on the American lady, to be sure, although- 
 she, in return, is so cold and cruel to him. What does 
 he not do for her? These lovely bouquets from the 
 florist's every morning — and all for nothing. Madame 
 will never look at them, but orders me to remove them 
 directly she sees them- — which I do, to be sure! But 
 I take good care that Monsieur never hears of it, and 
 if my friend, the little florist, makes a double jn'ofit 
 out of his rosebuds, why shouldn't I make one! And 
 these delicious little breakfasts and suppers from the 
 Trois Freres I — of which Madame eats just enough 
 to keep body and soul together. Surely Madame must 
 be very much accustomed to lovers, to reject the ad- 
 vances of so amiable and devoted a gentleman. And 
 then the books in paper covers — not a book printed 
 in all Paris, but it is laid on this table the day it is 
 issued. To be sure she never looks into one of them. 
 And I don't blame her for that. Even / don't look 
 into them — so they are entirely wasted. And it's a 
 pity to see so much pretty money thrown away. Bah ! 
 
TWO CITIES. 43 
 
 how can she be so cold, so unappreciating, and make 
 herself so horrid in that odious black dress. But she 
 can't deceive me ! She loves somebody else. When 
 we poor down -trodden women attempt to injure one 
 man, it is only because we hope, in doing so, to please 
 some other 
 
 (Enter Ethel in Mack, l.) 
 
 E. Mannette! 
 
 Man. Madame ! 
 
 E. Have I not told you repeatedly to remove these 
 flowers the instant they arrive ? Why do you not 
 obey me ? 
 
 Man. Certainly, Madame. 
 
 (exit bearing the flowers, R.) 
 
 E. (sinks upon a chair) Can it be that I am never 
 to escape from my imprisonment here ! Can it be 
 possible in this great city, that is crowded with my 
 countrymen, I can not reach a friend? Will my pun- 
 ishment never cease? Is it not enough that I have 
 been betrayed from my home — dishonored — have seen 
 my poor lather murdered before my eyes, but that, to 
 crown all, I should be dragged here, and kept pris- 
 oner by a libertine? Alas! my punishment is greater 
 than I can bear! (the notes of a harp are heard) What 
 do I hear ? Ah ! it is the little Savoyard, who used 
 to play under my window when I was — I will speak- 
 to him. Who knows but that — (she goes to the win- 
 dow, and opens it) Is it possible ? He has a letter, 
 which he makes signs for me to take. Can this be a 
 ray of hope for me ? But how can I take it from 
 him ? I know that I am watched. Nevertheless I 
 will try to discover its contents. 
 
 She takes money from her purse, and throws it 
 down. A letter is thrown into the room. She 
 raises it, and comes forward. 
 
 Surely I know that hand! Not a foreign hand, but 
 one like — like — Ah ! yes, I know it now. 
 
 (Tears it open and reads.) 
 
44 TWO CITIES. 
 
 " I am still unable to lift myself from my couch, or I 
 would come to your assistance. But help is at hand. To- 
 night M. Macrobe gives a masked ball at his rooms, which 
 adjoin those in which you are confined. If you will be 
 there, in a black domino, with a small blue ribbon pinned 
 to the left sleeve, a black domino will approach you, and 
 offer an arm; accept it, and you will be conducted to a 
 carriage, and driven to the Hotel Chatham, where you will 
 meet many friends. I beseech you do not fail to embrace 
 this opportunity, and to have perfect confidence. 
 
 "Henry Dalton." 
 
 Henry Dalton! the mau alone of all the world who 
 should be my enemy, my only friend in need! How 
 he loved me! perhaps loves me still. Ah! if I could 
 only return his love ? See with what noble delicacy he 
 writes! He does not even mention his own address, 
 lest I should thank him — I, who so little merit his 
 friendship. Yes, yes! I will do it. But how can I 
 procure the domino and access to the ball-room, when 
 my every movement is watched? To be sure, there 
 is Mannette. lean not trust her; perhaps I can buy 
 her. Yes, I must buy her. (goes to table, 'where she 
 leaves the letter, and rings. Enter Mannette) 
 
 Man. Madame has commands ? 
 
 E. Mannette, come here. I wish to speak to you. 
 (Ethel sits upon sofa at r. Mannette stands behind 
 her) Mannette, have you ever heard — do you know 
 why your master keeps me a prisoner here ? 
 
 Man. Alas, Madame, I do not understand vou. 
 How should a poor girl like me know anything 
 about one's betters ? 
 
 E. Well, then, listen, Mannette, and I will tell you 
 everything. Your master does keep me a prisoner 
 here, hoping, alas! I know not what. Now attend to 
 me, Mannette. I do not ask your services ; I know you 
 are in his pay ; I am only going to pay you higher. I 
 was the only child of a very rich gentleman in my 
 own country. He is now, alas ! dead, and all that 
 was his is mine. Your master is very rich, doubtless, 
 and able to pay you liberally for your services as my 
 jailor; but I am richer even than he. He can pay 
 you hundreds of Napoleons for your services; I can 
 
TWO CITIES. 45 
 
 pay you thousands. What I ask of you is very sim- 
 ple, and upon your doing it depends my power to re- 
 pay you. Can I trust you ? no. I will not ask that, 
 can I have your service, at the price of whatever you 
 choose to ask of me in money, in return for them ? 
 
 Man. Surely Madame knows that I will serve her 
 with my life, and that I will serve without price. 
 
 E. Perhaps. But I do not ask you to do either. 
 Your reward shall make you a rich woman for life, 
 and the service is very simple. 
 
 Man. Proceed, maclame, if you please. 
 
 E. Your master gives a masked ball to-night in 
 rooms which connect with these. I simply ask you to 
 procure for me a black domino, with a small piece of 
 blue ribbon on the left sleeve, and to show me how 
 to gain access to his guests. My friends will be there 
 to receive me. Mind, now, I do not trust you for 
 any love you bear me ! 
 
 Man. Madam, I assure you you wrong your poor 
 little Mannette who worships you. 
 
 E. I have not done. Do not interrupt me. You 
 know that I am a prisoner here, that I have repelled 
 every advance of your wicked master. 'My friends 
 have discovered my prison, and, sooner or later, the 
 police must liberate me. In that event you will gain 
 nothing, perhaps losing your place, as well as your 
 duties here. But I desire, not on your master's ac- 
 count, but on my own, to leave this vile place quietly, 
 and to spare all knowledge of his folly and infamy 
 to the world. Now listen attentively. If you betray 
 me to your master, he can gain nothing, lor sooner or 
 later he must be called to account for my abduction. 
 Even if he foils me to-night he can only know what 
 he knows already, that I loath and detest him. But 
 if you serve me, you shall gain all. I will not ask 
 you to wait until I am free. I have by me jewels of 
 very great value, and they shall be earnest of my 
 promises to you. Your interest is to aid me, but 
 you can do as you choose. 
 
 Man. The domino shall be procured, Madame, with 
 the small blue ribbon and all. 
 
48 TWO CITIES. 
 
 E. Good. At what hour is the masque ? 
 
 Man. At eleven this evening, Madame. 
 
 E. Very well. At half after that hour, bring me 
 the domino. I will keep my word. Remember you 
 can do as you choose. Remember that whatever your 
 master pays you, I will pay higher. {exit at R.) 
 
 Man. So, then, madame goes to-night, and my 
 occupation goes with her. Well, one must live. 1 
 shall do as she says. And so Madame is going to be 
 abducted. What fun! I Wish I could only be ab- 
 ducted! Well, why can't I be abducted ? Why can't 
 I put on a black domino with a blue ribbon on my 
 left sleeve, and be abducted ? Sapristi! — that's the 
 way monsieur my master swears. Sapristi ! says he. 
 Sapristi! {she draws herself up, and strikes the table 
 with her hand) Sapristi! and I will be abducted! 
 Some people can be abducted as well as others ! All 
 right, all right, Madame — but this evening at eleven, 
 there will be two black dominos with blue ribbons on 
 the left sleeve, instead of one — and why shouldn't I 
 be abducted as well as my betters? 
 
 {Enter Mdlle. Disblance and Mad. Dela- 
 pieere, who carries a large green umbrella, l. ) 
 
 M. Del. I am sure it is good in us to come and 
 visit the American lady in her disappointment and 
 disgrace. Not many people would be so condescend- 
 ing. And yet, poor child, how she patronized us. 
 She was Madame la Marquise, and we her va«sals. 
 Ah ! she played the Marquise to perfection. I have 
 no doubt she will be more humble now. {to Man.) 
 Girl, go and call your mistress here at once. 
 
 Man. {going) Ah! And suppose Madame does not 
 choose to come.? {exit) 
 
 M. Del. Well, well! I suppose we may be seated. 
 Seat yourself, my dear. Ah ! I do not like that win- 
 dow opening on the street. Supposing you close it, 
 my dear. (Disblance goes to window, and closes it) 
 
 Enter Man. 
 
TWO CITIES. 47 
 
 Man. Madame wishes to be excused (aloud), and 
 no wonder, the nasty, greasy old woman! (aside) 
 
 Del. What ! (she rises and walks the room, excitedly) 
 Wishes to be excused! Ah! ah! Wishes to be 
 excused. And pray what does Madame la Marquise 
 imagine herself to be! Ah! pride must have a fall, 
 my dear, pride must have a fall, (seats herself, takes a 
 large fan from her pocket, and fans violently with one 
 hand, while thumping the floor violently with her um- 
 brella with the other) 
 
 Dis. I suppose, then, we need not remain. 
 
 Del. Eemain ! Indeed, and I will remain, until 
 that creature, that — ah ! until Madame la Marquise 
 deigns to approach, (looking around) Is there — is 
 there nothing to drink here ? (she goes to the table) 
 Is there nothing with which we can refresh ourselves r 
 (to Man) 
 
 Man. No, Madame. 
 
 Del. Will you be good enough, girl, to get me 
 something, then, and be quick about it, too ? I am 
 dying with rage and perspiration, (examining the table) 
 Books, bah! Ah! what is this! a letter! opened! ah! 
 madame, your intrigues are more than we suspected. 
 (opens it) Now if I could only — Disblance ? 
 
 Dis. Madame. 
 
 Del. Here, read this letter. Read it aloud, mind, 
 (gives it to her) 
 
 Dis. Ah ! It is in English ! 
 
 Del. In English ! ah ! ah ! Madam o, we have you 
 now ! (snatches it) Why, so it is ! Strange that I 
 did not observe that before. I'll take care of this, 
 my dear, I'll take precious good care of it. Will 
 that girl never return ! 
 
 Enter Macrobe, k. 
 
 Ah, we have come to visit your lady, but your lady 
 keeps her chamber, and will not see us. 
 
 M. Well, she has aright to excuse herself, I suppose, 
 
 Del. Ah yes ! No wonder she is diffident about 
 
 meeting the friends of her prosperity. But, Monsieur, 
 
 take care, I say, take care ! (approaching and whisper- 
 
48 TWO CITIES. 
 
 ing) You flatter yourself that Madame has no other 
 lovers. 
 
 M. What do you say ? 
 
 Del. Ah! Nothing — nothing. Only beware of 
 the Englishman ! 
 
 M. Explain yourself. 
 
 Del. (fanning herself) Ah! I have a consuming 
 thirst. I came here on foot. Will you be good enough, 
 Monsieur, to order me some wine? 
 
 M. Do you know anything ? speak ! 
 
 Del. Monsieur, I know one thing. I came here to- 
 day on business — on my business, not on yours. Oh! 
 Monsieur, you know how hard it is to live these times, 
 and I have been so unfortunate. My lodger has not 
 paid me. except in promises, these many long months. 
 My means, as you know, Monsieur, are not extensive — 
 yes, I may say they are not extensive ; and my 
 health — as Monsieur, as everybody who knows me 
 must own, is far from what I could wish. 
 
 M. You are garrulous. What do you require ? 
 
 Del. Macrobe, my friend, I wish, to be brief, a 
 thousand francs. 
 
 M. A thousand francs! I have not so much money. 
 
 Del. (laughing) Ha! Ha! Do you attend, Dis- 
 blance, he says he has not that much money ! Good, 
 good ! Well, then, my friend, two thousand will serve 
 me, and I would like it now. 
 
 M. And what security do you propose to give me 
 for all this money, Madame ? 
 
 Del. A letter, Monsieur, a very little letter. A 
 letter written in English, do you hear! Two thous- 
 and francs for a little letter, written in English. But 
 you will not be the first to read it. Oh no! Madame 
 within here has read it before you. I will leave the 
 letter with you as security, and if I do not pay you 
 back the money, why you can keep the letter. What do 
 you think of my scheme ? What do you think of me as 
 a woman of business, Disblance ? Would you not wish 
 to become a directress in our little Credit Foncier? 
 
 M. Delapierre, I have not so much money in the 
 world. But follow me to my office — these apartments 
 
TWO CITIES. 49 
 
 are not mine — and I will see the letter of which you 
 speak. {going) 
 
 Del. Ah, well ! certainly. I will follow you. 
 Come, Disblance, this is no place for our Credit bon- 
 der. Come to the meeting of directors at our office. 
 (as they all exit at L., DeJapierre shakes tier umbrella 
 at door R.) Ah, ah! and so you wouldn't see me, you 
 thing! you cat! Ah! pride must have a fall, my 
 dear, pride must have a fall. 
 
 Enter Mannette, with decanter, biscuits, and 
 glasses on a tray. 
 
 Man. Ah! there is nobody here now that the wine 
 has come ! Ah ! then I will have some myself, (pours 
 out glass, and conies forward with glass- and biscuit) 
 And so Madame thinks she will be abducted to-night. 
 But I will be ahead of her! (eating) Oh, what fun! 
 what fun! Some people may put on airs, but (toss- 
 ing her head) some people can be abducted as well as 
 others ! 
 
 Scene III. — A ball-room. Mashers. Among them. 
 Mackobe, Latour, Madame Delapierre, and 
 Mdlle. Disblance. A quadrille. Enter Ethel 
 at L., in a black domino. A masker meets Iter, and 
 they exit unobserved at r. Enter at l., Man- 
 NETTE, in a similar domino, with a conspicuous 
 blue rosette upon the left sleeve. 
 
 (After a time, Macrobe, Latour, and two mask- 
 ers come forward. Mannette is standing at 
 C.j conversing with a guest.) 
 
 L. Do you think it will be attempted to-night ? 
 The hour has passed. 
 
 Mac. I am sure. Look. Ah ! I was not mis- 
 taken. Do you see that domino with the blue ribbon 
 upon the left sleeve? It is her. Seize her! Soft! 
 Do it gently — gently ; make no noise at all. 
 
 (As Mannette moves forward, Macrobe, La- 
 tour, and the maskers follow her movements. 
 
50 TWO CITIES. 
 
 She turns, and confronts Mac, wlto bows, and 
 offers his arm. He brings her forward to c. 
 Latour and the attendants gather around. The 
 other mashers return to rear of stage. 
 
 Man. Ah ! Now, at last I shall be abducted ! (aside) 
 Mac. (unmasking) Ah! Madame, if you please, 
 we will not lose your sweet society. We love you too 
 well. Why do you seek to leave our hospitality — your 
 friends who love you so well ? You do not unmask ! 
 Ah ! then we must assist you ! (he attempts to fear 
 away her mask. She struggles and screams.) 
 
 Mac. (tearing away her ?nask) Now, Madame — 
 Saprist i ! Man n e tte ! 
 
 Man. Ah, me ! I thought I should be abducted. 
 I am disgusted. Oh, what a disappointment! 
 
 (Disblance, Delapiekee, and guests advance.) 
 Dis. Ah ! my dear Monsieur, the little American 
 has outwitted you. 
 
 Del. They always will ! Did I not tell you, they 
 always will ? Ah ! my dear Monsieur Macrobe, all 
 passions make us commit faults ; it is only love that 
 makes us ridiculous! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT FOUKTH. 
 
 New York. — A parlor in Mrs. Van Tier's residence on 
 Fifth Avenue. Quests in evening dress visible dancing the 
 German in drawing-room beyond. Mr. Clyne and Miss 
 Van Tier discovered seated on sofa at r. p. Music. 
 
 F. Well, now you have had your own way for once 
 in your life, I hope you are satisfied, sir! 
 
 Cl. Yes, Fanny, my darling, I have had my own 
 
TWO CITIES. 51 
 
 way for once, and we are really engaged — engaged so 
 tight that you can't get out of it either. Isn't it ta 
 
 F. Can't ! can't, indeed ! "Why I can break it off 
 any instant I please, as easily as I can break this 
 bracelet ! (unfastens a bracelet from her wrist, and 
 throws it upon the carpet) 
 
 Cl. (picking up the bracelet, and clasping if on her 
 arm) You didn't break it that time, at any rate, 
 and I don't think you will, either, when you know I 
 
 lo 
 
 F. (putting her hand over his mouth) Oh ! you 
 horrid thing! will you ever stop saying that sentence 
 over and over again ? I declare I am getting about 
 discouraged, (throwing herself back upon the sofa) 
 Here I've been and gone and engaged myself to you 
 for nothing else in the world than because I was 
 tired to death of hearing your eternal "I love you," 
 "I love you," and now here you are at it again ! Will 
 nothing stop you ! Will no sacrifice that I can make 
 — Oh dear, oh dear ! you are perfectly outrageous ! 
 
 Cl. What else can I say ? 
 
 F. What else ? I'm sure I don't know ! You 
 never could say much ! I'm sure nobody ever looked 
 to you to get up a flow of conversation ! But then 
 you had those conundrums, you know ! Do, for good- 
 ness sake, go into the other room, and ask those peo- 
 ple the conundrums that you used to be so fond of, 
 when I first had the misery of your acquaintance. 
 Perhaps, now, you'll find somebody there who knows 
 the difference between a thingumbob and a something 
 or other else. What makes more noise than a pig 
 under a gate ! for instance. That's new and invig- 
 orating! I wonder how many times I have had to tell 
 you that I didn't know, and what's more, that I 
 didn't care, what made more noise than a pig under a 
 gate ! Or better yet, go and dance. 
 
 Cl. I hate dancing ! 
 
 F. Then so much the more merit in your obeying 
 me instantly. Do as you are bid, sir! 
 
 Cl. Why ? Isn't it awfully ta here ? 
 
 F. Yes, there you are with your conundrums, 
 
52 TWO CITIES. 
 
 again. I thought you'd come back to them in 
 time! 
 
 Cl. Well, then, I'll go. Good-bye. 
 
 (attempts to hiss her) 
 
 F. (struggling) How dare you, sir! Are you mad ! 
 Will you stop making a fool of yourself, sir! 
 
 Cl. Well, Fanny, I know I'm a fool. I never at- 
 tempted to deny it, did I ? If I tried to pretend I 
 wasn't a fool, I should on.ly make myself ridiculous. 
 
 (kisses her) 
 
 F. Well, now, I hope you are satisfied ! 
 (exit Cltne, c.) (Enter Mrs. Van Tier, r.) 
 
 Mrs. V. T. Why, Fanny, what are you doing 
 here all alone ? 
 
 F. I haven't been here all alone. That tiresome 
 Charley Clyne has been with me. 
 
 Mrs. V. T. Tiresome! Why he says that you told 
 him you loved him ! 
 
 F. Well, ma, perhaps I do ! but then he is sudh a 
 fool! 
 
 Mrs. V. T. Perhaps he is, my dear — perhaps he 
 is. But, then, if it were not for the fools, what should 
 we do for society ? 
 
 Music ceases. The guest* come forward. Among 
 them the Rev. Mr. Rutherstone, Mr. Forrest, 
 Miss Clare, Mr. Chitty, Miss Parker, and Mr. 
 Clyne. 
 
 C. I hope I'm not in anybody's way ! 
 
 Cl. How do, Chitty! How do, Parker! haven't 
 seen anybody for an age. Isn't this awfully ta ? 
 
 (Walters enter, and pass German crackers to the guests, who 
 ■pull them, and put the paper caps upon their heads, 
 Waiters also pass them to all present.) 
 
 C. Here, Miss Parker, pull this cracker with me. 
 Miss P. Will it go off? dear, I shall faint ! I 
 know I shall ! (pulls) Oh, my gracious! 
 
 (Mr. Chitty finds a black paper Oxford cap in his 
 cracker. He puts it on.) 
 
 C. What's yours ? 
 
TWO [CITIES. 53 
 
 Miss P. Oh! dear, how inappropriate ! It's a soldier's 
 cap ! 
 
 C. Yes, a dragoon's. Shall I put it on for you ? 
 {puts it on her head) There, now! upon my word you 
 look quite formidable. Indeed, I may say, grumpy 
 — positively grumpy, (aside) 
 
 Miss P. Oh ! do tell me, Mr. Chitty, did you enjoy 
 your German ? 
 
 W C. Me, oh, no! I never dance, I should only get in 
 everybody's way ! 
 
 Miss P. Don't you ? oh, you should ! I perfectly 
 dote on dancing! 
 
 C. Then I suppose you enjoyed yours? 
 
 Miss P. Oh, yes. It was perfectly delightful, and 
 then I had such an elegant partner. 
 
 C. I'm getting outrageously jealous. It's absolutely 
 dangerous to come near me. I shall certainly kill 
 somebody in an instant, (aside) And who, may I 
 ask, was the elegant partner ? Your partners are 
 usually lovely. Now, I'm actually dying to know 
 who the elegant partner was. 
 
 Miss" P. It was Mr. Rutherstone. Isn't it queer, 
 now, that a clergyman should dance ? 
 
 C. Oh, no ! not in the least. He's a clergyman 
 about town. He's on the broad, you know. 
 
 Miss P. Ou the broad ? Why, what can you mean ? 
 
 C. Why, don't you know, there's three kinds of 
 churchmen, high churchmen, low churchmen, and 
 broad churchmen. 
 
 Miss P. Why, what's the difference? 
 C. Why, you see, a high churchman wears a cravat 
 without any collar ; a low churchman wears a collar 
 with a cravat ; and a broad churchman wears a collar 
 without a cravat. Now, Rutherstone, he is a man 
 with a collar without a cravat — with a broad collar, 
 you know — and so they call him a broad churchman ; 
 and, being a broad churchman, why he can dance as 
 much as he likes, or flirt, or play billiards, or any- 
 thing of the kind. 
 
 Mrs. V. T. What a horrid affair that was on the 
 Champs Elysges, Mr. Chitty. 
 5* 
 
54 TWO CITIES. 
 
 C. Ghastly, my dear Mrs. Van Tier — positively 
 ghastly. 
 
 Mrs. V. T. But I should have supposed there 
 would have been some very unpleasant consequences. 
 
 C. Well, no ! no unpleasant consequences, except 
 a cold corpse or two — beyond that, nothing. 
 
 Mes. V. T. Pshaw ! You know what I mean ! 
 Were there no arrests, or anything of that sort ? 
 
 C. Well. I fancy there might have been ; but, you 
 see it was one of those three-cornered sorts of arrange- 
 ments, where everybody who shoots, shoots in self- 
 defense ; and so, consequently, everybody who is 
 killed, is killed in self-defense. And you can't hang 
 a man, or chop off his head, you know, for being killed 
 in self-defense. 
 
 Mrs. V. T. But, then, think of poor Mr. Beynart! 
 
 C. Yes, that was too bad. I'm sorry Beynart was 
 potted. But Brooke was a low sort of fellow, any- 
 how. He had the look of a gentleman, but the soul 
 of a licensed vender. How is it about Beynart, 
 though ? They say he didn't cut up at all. 
 
 Mes. V. T. Cut up! why what do you mean, Mr. 
 Chitty? 
 
 C. Oh ! pardon! I mean he didn't leave anything 
 behind him. His vast property, you know, all in- 
 vested in Antarctic Southerns, or something equally 
 permanent. 
 
 Miss V. T, Oh ! then, you mean that he "cut up" 
 too much ? Poor dear man ! I'm afraid it's all true. 
 They tell me he left positively nothing but "liabili- 
 ties." I suppose those are something very much like 
 Great Antarctics, or whatever you call them, in your 
 horrid shop talk. 
 
 C. Yes, about as permanent. 
 
 Mrs. V. T. And his houses and grounds and 
 horses are all to be sold to pay his debts. Poor 
 Edith ! she has scarcely any fortune of her own. 
 Just a trifle of a dot from her mother, enough to 
 live on in the strict retirement which 1 suppose, un- 
 der the circumstances, she will observe. 
 Miss P. Strict retirement ? I should think she had 
 
TWO CITIES. 55 
 
 better! To think of her never having been married 
 at all !- 
 
 0. Not married ! She is a lawfully married wife 
 according to the statutes of the state of New York ! 
 and — (aside) that is more than you'll ever be able to 
 say for yourself, I fancy ! 
 
 (Mr. Rutherstone with Miss Van Tier on his arm, 
 and Mr. Forrest with Miss Clare, approach.) 
 
 Miss Cl. Oh, yes ! I am really " out " now, and, do 
 you know, I enjoy it so much ! I think beaux are very 
 nice indeed, and I think society is lovely ! 
 
 F. You may think so now, my dear, but by 
 the time you are as old as I am, you'll have dis- 
 covered that beaux are like colds in the head, very 
 easy to catch, and very hard to get rid of ! And as for 
 society, why, wait until you're a bankrupt! Calls pay- 
 able equal to calls receivable — result, happiness; calls 
 payable exceeding calls receivable — result, misery ! 
 
 0. Well Miss Van Tier, I trust I, for one, am not 
 in the way. 
 
 Miss" Cl. I'm sure I don't want to get rid of any — 
 I want all I can get; all the difficulty I find is in 
 getting them to come at all; 
 
 Cl. I'll tell you how to do it, Miss Clare, offer each 
 of 'em a chromo. That's the way the newspapers do 
 when they want subscribers ! 
 
 Miss Cl. T)h! Why there's some crackers! Let's 
 pull some ! I perfectly dote on crackers, come Fanny ; 
 come Mr. Rutherstone! 
 
 ( Waiters bring crackers. They pull them, and in so doing, 
 cross hands.) 
 
 T. Oh ! Oh ! Did you see that ! Somebody's going 
 to be married. I wish it was I ! No — but I know who 
 it is! it's Fanny. 
 
 F. My dear when you happen to know anything, 
 you should always keep it to yourself. After you've 
 been in society as long as I have, you'll find you need 
 all the information you can accumulate to talk about 
 between the dances. 
 
 C. Anybody would suppose you were quite a veteran 
 
56 TWO CITIES. 
 
 in society, Miss Van Tier, to hear you counsel Miss 
 Clare, there. One would suppose you and Parker came 
 out together, (aside) 
 
 Ruth, (taking a paper cap) Shall I put this sun- 
 bonnet upon your head Miss Van Tier — (adjusts it.) 
 There ! it sits like a crown. I assure you, you look 
 like a queen. 
 
 F. Like Queen Cophetua, very likely! She that 
 was made a queen out of a beggar maid in rags and 
 a sun- bonnet ! I've no doubt I do! 
 
 Ruth. Yes. She was " more fair than words can 
 say," you know. 
 
 F. You are very kind to tell me of it. No, I 
 never read the poem. I never got any further than 
 the picture. 
 
 For. Miss Eva, shall I fix that sugar-loaf hat up 
 on your forehead ? 
 
 Miss Cl. Sugar-loaf hat! Why that's a Normandy 
 cap! 
 
 C. Ladies and gentlemen, approach! approach! 
 Clyne's got a new conundrum ! 
 
 All. What is it ? Tell us quick ! 
 
 Cl. (coming forward, with a pink paper fool 's cap 
 on his head) Why is a young lady getting ready to go 
 to a party, like a — like a — oh, yes ! like an old lady 
 asking her husband for some new clothes ? Isn't that 
 ta/ now? 
 
 All. Oh ! do tell us quick! we give'it up! 
 
 Cl. Because one is careless and happy, and the 
 other is hairless and cappy ! Oh, no ! I beg your par- 
 don! Because one is a dead level, and the other is a 
 lead devil. No, no! that's not it, either. Oh! I'll tell 
 you. I remember now. Because one is dressing for 
 a ball, and the other is bawling for a dress! Isn't 
 that ta! now? 
 
 F. (coming forward, and pulling the fool's cap off 
 his head) There, now, sir, you have distinguished 
 yourself. I knew you would. Now you can retire, sir ! 
 (Attendants enter and serve ices and other re- 
 freshments.) 
 
 Mrs. V. T. Oh ! Fanny, Fanny, have you heard 
 the news? 
 
TWO CITIES. 57 
 
 F. No, mamma. What news? 
 Mrs. V. T. Ethel has come back again ! 
 F. Oh! where, where ? If I knew where she was, 
 I would go to her this instant ! 
 Ruth. And leave me ? 
 
 F. Yes, and leave you, and leave everybody. Ex- 
 cuse me, Mr. Rutherstone, but that girl is a perse- 
 cuted saint upon earth. 
 
 Miss P. She is a Saint Magdalen, then ! Do you 
 mean to say, my dear Fan., that you would speak to 
 her ? 
 
 F. Speak to her ! Do you suppose that I wouldn't 
 speak to her ? Indeed, I would. I would take her 
 into my arms if the whole world should cut me dead 
 forever after! 
 
 Cl. And so would I — (Fanny looks at him) that 
 is, I — I wouldn't exactly take her in my arms, you 
 know, but I'd — I'd stand by her, by Jove! (excitedly) 
 if New York should blow itself into the river about 
 it. Ah! Rutherstone, my dear fellow, may I speak 
 to you .privately a moment ? 
 
 Ruth. Certainly, my dear boy ; what is it ? 
 
 (they come forward, R.) 
 
 Cl. (aside to him) I — I only wanted to ask you if — 
 (turning himself around ) if you think my dress-coat 
 is long enough in the tails. You know they wear them 
 longer this year. They're much more ta that way! 
 
 Ruth. Upon my word, I think it's just right ; who 
 built it for you ? 
 
 Cl. Thanks, thanks. My mind's easier now ; 
 that's all. I'll tell you all about it some other time. 
 Thanks, thanks ! (they f/° u p) 
 
 Miss P. She will never be received back again into 
 good society, of course ! 
 
 Miss Cl. I don't know anything about your "of 
 course." All I know is, that she shall come to our 
 house as often as she likes, and that people who 
 don't care to see her there can just stop away. And 
 as soon as I know where she is, I'm going to call on 
 her, if it's to-night ! 
 
 F. Good for you, Eva, my dear ! 
 
58 TWO CITIES. 
 
 For. And good for you, Miss Eva, say I, too. 
 She has been very badly used, and I would do any- 
 thing to serve her. I should like to convince her 
 that all men are not libertines! 
 
 Euth. But what will society say ? 
 
 {Waiters enter, and collect the refreshments, <&c. The band 
 in the drawing-room beyond, strikes up a waltz of 
 Strauss.) 
 Mrs. V. T. I am sure the poor girl shall never see 
 a difference in my heart or my home ; hut as to soci- 
 ety — well, Mr. Chitty, what's your advice about 
 society ? 
 
 C. My dear Mrs. Van Tier, people never pretend 
 to ask advice until they've made up their minds ex- 
 actly what they're going to do, whether or no. I 
 am not an authority about what society will do, or 
 won't do. But as for myself, so far as I am per- 
 mitted to be, I am Miss Reynart's friend forever ! 
 
 Euth. Ladies and gentlemen, I am requested to 
 inform you that there is another German to be 
 formed, which I will have the honor to lead. 
 (All retire, and a German is seen to form beyond.) 
 (Enter Ethel, dressed in dee]) black, with heavy veil as 
 
 before, L.) 
 E. At last! at last! Home! Oh! how like 
 home this seems ! Where else can I go ? What else 
 can I do ? I have no home on earth! (throwing 
 aside her veil) But I can not stay here. See, 
 they are dancing beyond. Ah ! I could dance too, 
 once. But I must rest a moment unobserved, and 
 then I will go! Oh, heaven ! where shall I go ? (she 
 sinks upon the sofa. Enter Miss Parker) Oh, heaven ! 
 what shall I do now ? 
 
 Miss P. (sees Ethel, who stretches her hands im- 
 ploringly to her) And, may I ask, what that woman is do- 
 ing here? Oh ! let me fly — let me fly at once from 
 this house. And so this is what we were invited to 
 meet ! 
 
 E. She is gone ! and she has done right. Ah, 
 me ! what a thing am I ! But I deserve it. I de- 
 
TWO CITIES. 59 
 
 serve it! I possessed the true love of an honorable 
 man, and I flung it away for a heartless — but no, 
 stone as he was, I worshipped him — and he is at rest 
 now. But, heaven help me, I deserved it all ! 
 
 {Enter Clyne and Fanny, and following them, Chitty 
 (tndMiss Clake.) 
 
 F. My own opinion is that she will come to us. 
 Poor child ! where else has she to go ? 
 
 Cl. Wasn't that what I always said about 
 Brooke ? Didn't I always say that he was a brute, 
 and then you always said, "Oh, well, he's so hand- 
 some," and then, just because I wasn't a brute, and 
 wasn't handsome 
 
 F. Who said you weren't a brute ? 
 
 Cl. Don't interrupt me Fan ! You ought to be 
 ashamed of it now, and, 'pon my soul, I'm glad to 
 see that you are. I really believe that you were in 
 love with him yourself once, and then, seeing that 
 you couldn't get him, you put up with me. 
 
 F. Yes, I think I was very condescending, too, to 
 " put up with you," as you call it. 
 
 Cl. It was just like the fellow to deceive her when 
 he found that the governor had cut up bad — he never 
 would have " shook " her so long as she had any 
 stamps ! 
 
 F. "Shook her!" "stamps!" Why what on 
 earth are you talking about! You talk like the con- 
 ductor of a horse car ! Do you suppose that I can 
 understand such language as that ? 
 
 Cl. Well, now that you speak of it, I begin to 
 suspect that you do. (sees Ethel) What ! 
 
 (Fanny sees her, rushes to the sofa, and falls on 
 her knees before" her. Ethel drops her head 
 upon Fanny's shoulder. The rest gather 
 around.) 
 
 F. My dear, dear child ! 
 C. I hope we aren't in anybody's way! 
 E. Then you are not ashamed to know me. (ris- 
 ing) And you — and you — are you all my friends ? 
 C. All here are your friends always. 
 
60 TWO CITIES. 
 
 Cl. Always! 
 
 Miss Cl. Always ! always ! 
 
 C. And you can command us just as you always 
 could ! 
 
 E. Then you are friends indeed ! 
 
 (Enter Mks. Van Tier, R.) 
 Mrs. V. T. My dearest Ethel! I am so happy! 
 (embraces her) This is your home now, as it always 
 was. 
 
 F. Yes, and more than ever! She shall never 
 leave us now! 
 
 (Enter Muchicatawney, r.; she rushes to Ethel, 
 and embraces her.) 
 
 Much. Oh ! my child ! my child ! (sobbing) My 
 poor, poor child. I thought I was never to see your 
 blessed face again ! Oh ! how could you leave your 
 poor old Muchicatawney! 
 
 Mrs. V. T. There! There! my good Muchica- 
 tawney. I wouldn't cry, if I were you. You see 
 nobody else is crying. You must know, Ethel, that 
 Muchicatawney is the most invaluable person in my 
 house ; I'm sure I don't know what we should do with- 
 out her. So she, I hope, will help us make you per- 
 fectly at home here with us. 
 
 E. I thank you more than I can trust myself to 
 tell. But I can not make my home with you ; but I 
 will ask you to let me rest here to-night, if 
 
 F. To-night, and always, my darling ! 
 
 E. But think what I am ! 
 
 F. I think what you are going to be! You're go- 
 ing to be my sister. And Charlie's too ! Isn't she, 
 Charlie ? 
 
 Cl. I am sure of it. And it's awfully ta, too ! 
 
 F. And now, dear, Muchicatawney and I will show 
 you your room. You are so tired, and all the people 
 here will be staring you to death in a minute. 
 
 (Exeunt Ethel, Fanny, and Muchicatawney, l.) 
 
 Miss Cl. Can't I go, too ? Oh ! yes, but I will 
 though ! (exit, following them) 
 
TWO CITIES. 61 
 
 C. Come and have a smoke, Clyne. We must talk 
 this thing over. We're both in the way here. Ah ! 
 yes! You'll smoke! You'll smoke to-night at any 
 rate. [exeunt) 
 
 {Guests come forward and waltz, out all finally retire into 
 the drawing-room, as before. Enter Miss Parker from 
 l., and Muchicatawney from r. They meet.) 
 
 Much. Ah ! And so you wouldn't speak to her ! 
 You are too good for her, I suppose ! 
 
 Miss P. What do you say, woman ? 
 
 Much. Woman ! I'd have you to understand that 
 this is my home now, and 1 won't be called "a 
 woman" in my. own house! Woman, indeed ! 
 
 Miss P. Leave me ! 
 
 Much. Leave me! I like that! If anybody is to 
 leave, it will be you, and not me ! 
 
 Miss P. She's no better than she should be ! 
 
 Much. And you're no younger than you should 
 be! 
 
 Miss P. Neither are you, and 
 
 Much. And what! Oh! come! say it! No bet- 
 ter than she should be ! Oh ! if I were a man, I'd 
 hate to be in your shoes ! 
 
 Miss P. (screaming) In my shoes ! why, you 
 couldn't begin to get into them — you great fat 
 thing, you ! Go away, do, you want to eat me ? 
 
 Much. Eat you! why, who could eat you, you 
 stringy old thing? 
 
 Miss P. Stringy! and you're as fat as 
 
 Much. Well, I'm the best eating, anyway — if 
 there's to be any eating done! 
 
 [Enter Mr. Chittt.) 
 
 C. Hallo! I did'nt know that there was a Dorcas 
 Society here to night, or is it a Kettledrum ? [he 
 comes forward) 
 
 Miss P. Oh ! my dear Mr. Chitty, save, oh ! save 
 me from this awful woman ! 
 
 (She rushes to him, and falls fainting upon his left shoul- 
 der.) 
 6 
 
62 TWO CITIES. 
 
 Much. Oh ! my dear Mr. Chitty, save, oh ! save me 
 from this awful woman ! 
 
 (She rushes to \him,\jind 'falls fainting upon his right 
 shoulder.) 
 
 C. Bless my soul! what shall I do with these 
 lovely burdens ? I suppose it would be superfluous 
 to quote those two beautiful lines — "How happy 
 could I be with either," and so forth. Darlings ! — it's 
 quite safe to call 'em darlings in each other's hearing. 
 I should' nt like to say it to either of them alone, 
 though ! Breach of promise suits would be next in 
 order — darlings! I say, darlings, you're getting 
 rather heavy! — Muchicatawney especially is getting 
 rather heavy! If I only could manage to run that 
 sofa up here now ! Softly darlings, softly — don't dis- 
 turb yourselves ! 
 
 (He sides up slowly to the sofa, and pulls it towards him 
 with his foot. It runs on its castors, and stops before 
 him. He leans Muchicatawney down upon it from 
 left to right, and then leans Miss Parker across her 
 from right to left, then goes behind the sofa himself, 
 leans over it, and regards the audience.) 
 
 CUKTAIN. 
 
 ACT FIFTH. 
 
 New York. — Comfortably furnished bachelor's apartments. 
 Book-cases at l. Fireplace opposite. A writing-table, 
 with a student-lamp thereon. Chairs and ottoman. 
 Gun, old swords, and foils crossed over the pictures on 
 the walls. Tobacco jars and, pipes upon the mantel. 
 
TWO CITIES. 63 
 
 Dalton discovered in a luxurious dressing-gown and 
 slippers, seated in an arm-chair facing the audience, 
 reading, with his feet resting on an elaborate foot-rest. 
 He is pale and emaciated. At his elbow is a light stand, 
 upon lohich are several books, a large cabinet photograph 
 in a frame, a few phials, pipes, &c, &c. 
 
 D. Heigho ! Philosophy's Dot much company for 
 a man that's off his legs ! {reading) Patience has 
 a friend in Heaven, no doubt — but I'd rather have 
 a friend drop in here just now, to see me, than sit 
 up all day with Patience and Philosophy together. 
 Heigho ! (yawns) I suppose I shall weather it. 
 Men don't die of broken knees ! [taking up the 
 photograph and looking at if) Nor women of 
 broken hearts! Poor child! what will become of 
 her now! No father — no home — no husband! If 
 she only would — but she won't, and there's the end 
 of that. "Well, after all, a man can't blame a woman 
 because she won't fall in love with him, very well. 
 I wish, though, I could leave off thinking of her. If 
 I could only get out of doors I suppose I might, (a 
 knock at the door) Come in ! come in. Ah ! here's 
 somebody at last ! 
 
 (Enter Mrs. Montmorency Slashington, in walking 
 dress of the most elegant and modern make, high Al- 
 pine hat with feathers, &c, &c.,folloiced by a servant 
 bearing luncheon on a tray, L.) 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Good day to you, sir! 
 
 D Good day, Mrs. Slashington. You bring an 
 odor of the Spring air outside into my sick cham- 
 ber! 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Odor of Spring! odor of fresh air! Is 
 that all the appreciation you have to bestow upon 
 my bouquet! Ah! Mr. Dalton, if ever you should 
 get married, and should die, willing a large fortune 
 to the House for Unendurable and Indignant Old 
 "Women, and leaving a young and blooming widow to 
 the cold mercies of the world, and she should be 
 obliged, having once seen better days, to mingle with 
 
64 TWO CITIES. 
 
 those beneath her in the social scale, and to do her 
 own marketing, in short, to keep a strictly first-class 
 Ladies' Home, and to advertise, a few unmarried gen- 
 tlemen can be accommodated with first-class board, 
 in a strictly private family, the highest references 
 given and required — I only hope, sir, that her efforts 
 to impart an aroma of genteel refinement to the 
 everyday atmosphere of her establishment— Sarah, 
 put down the luncheon on the little table — by the 
 use of .the costliest perfumes that all Sixth Avenue 
 can supply! — will be better appreciated, sir! will be 
 better appreciated ! {servant ^Uices tray on the table) 
 
 D. It is very kind of 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Oh ! sir, if you had the slightest idea 
 — the remotest suspicion — of the mortification and 
 misery of having — after being brought up in the 
 greatest luxury and refinement, and after having been 
 nursed in the lap of opulence and aristocracy, with 
 your papa a member of Congress, who entertained all 
 the crowned heads and dukes of Europe, whenever 
 they came to Washington — atter having ridden in a 
 carriage — and never been allowed to touch the ground 
 with the soles of your feet — of an indulgent husband 
 to keep a Ladies' Home in a strictly private family ! 
 Oh ! Mr. Dalton ! I tell you I wonder how I stand it. 
 Indeed I do ! 
 
 D. It must be very 
 
 Mrs. M. S. It isn't to be mentioned! no, indeed, 
 it isn't! The daily miseries — the petty annoyances 
 — the cares — the sorrows — the tribulations — the mar- 
 keting for sixteen young men of various circum- 
 stances. And then, if some of them will go and fall in 
 love with you, and make trouble, how can you help it ? 
 You can't dress like a pig, can you ? And if they will 
 do it, and then leave without paying your bills, what 
 are you to do? And then the consequences of gravy 
 upon one's complexion ! 
 
 D. I am extremely 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Yes, and so am I, Mr. Dalton — so am 
 I ! But the reputation of my house is at stake, and I 
 can not permit it. Oh! do not ask me to permit it! 
 
TWO CITIES. 65 
 
 D. Permit what ? 
 
 Mrs. M. S. It isn't that / would notice it. Young 
 men will be young men. And it isn't the neighbors. 
 I'll tell you who it is. It's the servants. The ser- 
 vants of all the houses get together and converse in 
 the areas after dinner, and they tell of these things 
 — and that's how it gets around. 
 
 D. But what is it that you can't permit ? Upon 
 my word I haven't the least idea. 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Oh! Mr. Dajton, I'm sure your recom- 
 mendations here were respectable! But you really 
 mustn't do it any more! What would my poor 
 mamma say! 
 
 D. Mustn't do what ? Tell me, for goodness sake, 
 what it is I mustn't do, Mrs. Slashington ! 
 
 Mrs. M. S. What would my poor dear mamma say, 
 I wonder, or my papa, or my aunt Sistena, who 
 always lived in the house with us, and shared the 
 luxuries of our humble board — I mean of our humble 
 Ladies' Home — who would rather have run them- 
 selves off their limbs than see me put my hand to 
 any labor of any sort — what would they say — if they 
 weren't in Heaven now, and could'nt say boo to a 
 goose, it isn't likely — if they had thought I had come 
 to this. No, it mustn't occur ; indeed, it mustn't 
 occur again. Sarah, I hope you'll stay here, and 
 not go, as I told you; for I shouldn't like to be here 
 alone with Mr. Dalton, indeed I should 'nt. And I 
 don't think my poor mamma would have me, either, if 
 she were alive ! 
 
 D. In what have I offended you, Mrs. Slashing- 
 ton? 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Oh ! it isn't me as Mrs. Montmorency 
 Slashington that you've offended. But as propriet — 
 no ! I mean as at the head of a Ladies' Home in a 
 strictly private family, where the highest references 
 are given and required, I am in one sense a custo- 
 dian of the morals of the young men who inhabit 
 it. 
 
 D. What on earth do you mean? you don't sup- 
 pose that the Sister 
 
 6* 
 
66 TWO CITIES. 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Oh, that is it! A guilty conscience is 
 its own excuser, Mr. Dalton, and deception is always 
 the better part of valor. Now, please ( going very close 
 to Dalton's chair, and patting him on the cheek 
 with her gloved hands) please promise that it shan't 
 ever occur again ? 
 
 D. Why, Mrs. Slashington, she is a Sister of the 
 Order of St. Mary, whose duty it is to visit the friend- 
 less sick. I am not so friendless as perhaps she im- 
 agines, but she is welcome. to come. She is a Sister 
 of Charity, and no doors are closed to her. She has 
 been in the room but twice — and has never even 
 lifted her veil. I — I — upon my honor, I assure 
 you 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Ah! Ah! you naughty man. I shall 
 puh your ear tor being so wicked. ( pulls his ear) 
 There now, sir— will you jiromise now to never do so 
 again ? 
 
 D. But I assure you 
 
 Mrs. M. S. There, there, promise me that you'll 
 never do so again? 
 
 D. Well, there! I haven't done anything, but I'll 
 promise never to do so again, if you wish ! 
 
 Mrs. M. S. There, that's all I wanted. Thank you ! 
 Now, how do you like my new clothes? 
 
 D. Charming! you look pretty enough to kiss. 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Did I ever ! You can go, Sarah ! 
 
 (exit Servant) Well, then, why don't you kiss me ? 
 
 Oh ! I forgot! you can't rise ! well, then, here ! (she 
 
 puts her face down to Ms mouth. He hisses her. A 
 
 knock at the door is heard) 
 
 D. Come in ! 
 
 Mrs. M. S. Oh! good gracious! I must runaway, 
 and see about — good bye ! (exit, l.) 
 
 (Enter Mr. Chittt, l.) 
 
 C. I hope I'm not in anybody's way ! 
 
 {they shake hands) 
 
 D. Well, my dear friend, this is kind of you ! 
 
 C. How are you, old boy ? You've gone through 
 fire and water since I've seen you, and you don't ap- 
 pear to be so very much the worse for it ! 
 
TWO CITIES. 67 
 
 D. I am quite well, except the knee, you know. 
 
 C. Hit you in the arm and knee both, did he, 
 though ! That's the worst I ever heard of Brooke — 
 scattering his shot like a target company ! He must 
 have been devilish excited. 
 
 D. It is lucky tor me that he was excited. He 
 fired at me twice. The first shot touched me in the 
 arm, and was a mere scratch ; the other broke my 
 knee, and was more serious. He was just aiming at 
 me a third time when 
 
 C. When you potted him instead. Yes, I was 
 demonstrating the whole affair to your friends last 
 night, with German crackers for pistols, and Mrs. Van 
 Tier's parlors for the Champs Elysees. Can't you 
 crutch it, yet? 
 
 D. Oh ! I shall get out in time, I dare say. 
 
 C. Just heard by accident that you were in town. 
 Haven't you been lonely here ? 
 
 D. Just the least bit. There's a little Sister of 
 Charity comes to see me now and then. Was here 
 yesterday ; but with that exception you're the only 
 visitor I've had yet. 
 
 C. You'll have plenty of them when it's known that 
 you're here. So you've had a little Sister of Charity 
 to take care of you ! Why, Dal ton, I never dreamed 
 before what a sly fellow you were, in your little qu i e t 
 way. But here's your luncheon waiting for you. 
 
 D. I mean what I say. I don't know who she is, 
 but she's a genuine Sister of Charity, who came in to 
 see me, as her vows compelled her. I've no doubt I 
 seemed more sick than I really was, for she is coming 
 again to-day. She'll be surprised to find me sitting 
 up, I fancy. But I haven't asked you to lunch. Will 
 you take something ? 
 
 C. I regret to say that I have already lunched. 
 But, if I won't be in your way, I'll light one of those 
 big pipes I see on the mantel! 
 
 D. Certainly, help yourself. 
 
 (Chittt goes to the mantel, and Jills a pipe with, a stern 
 about three feet long. He attempts to light it with the 
 stem in his mouth. ) 
 
68 TWO CITIES. 
 
 C. It appears to fake two men to smoke this pipe. 
 
 D. It takes two to light it, at all events. Come 
 here and I'll help you. (he applies the match to the 
 bowl while Chitty draws) After I've had a bite, I'll 
 join you — now, sit down and tell me the news ? 
 
 C. Just what I'd enjoy doing. I always was an 
 old gossip. In the first place, you know, Reynart 
 did'nt leave a cent, (sitting) 
 
 D. He told me, poor fellow, that his troubles all 
 came together. But I didn't suppose it was quite so 
 bad as that, (eating) 
 
 C. Not a circumstance, not a sou did he leave, not 
 a copper. In the second place, that little Van Tier 
 girl is going to marry Clyne. 
 
 D. I supposed so! 
 
 C. (rising) Botheration and all ! what's the use of 
 telling you anything if you know it already — I might 
 as well tell you about the Siege of Troy and the Sape 
 of the Sabines. Now comes the last piece of intelli- 
 gence of all — I wonder if you've beard this ! — I'm to 
 be married myself! 
 
 D. It certainly is the last thing I should have 
 thought of— I never supposed that you were a marry- 
 ing man. (eating) 
 
 C. No man is. until he marries. I don't wonder 
 it surprises you. It was quite a shock to me — may 
 I trouble you to light this pipe for me again ! (Dal- 
 ton" ignites match, ami light* it) 
 
 D. But who is the lady? 
 
 C. Oh! I'll tell you in good time — by the way, I 
 suppose you know that Ethel — I mean that Miss 
 Eeynart has returned ! 
 
 D. I had not heard of it. (indifferently) And so 
 it is she that he is to marry ! And I have saved 
 her to see her, a second time, given to another, (aside) 
 You don't say so ? Nothing you could have told me 
 would have surprised me more ! 
 
 C. I was sure of it — sure of it. (sees the photogirqih 
 on the small table, and examines it) Dalton, old fel- 
 low, tell me the truth — haven't you got over that 
 
 yet? 
 
TWO CITIES. 69 
 
 D. I certainly have not lost my high regard for 
 Miss Rey n art, if that is what you mean ! 
 
 C. Then be brave now ! I pity her sorrows and 
 her sufferings, as much as' you can — and Heaven 
 knows that I would do all, and will do all, I can to 
 help her in her necessities ; but I must say that 
 she is like all the rest of her sex. I sometimes think 
 that women are the only created things that don't 
 know their own friends. Talk of love — passion — the 
 devotion of a life, the worship and homage of a life- 
 time — what do they care for that! Bah! the extra 
 curl of an eighth of an inch on the end of a mous- 
 tache, or a handful of extra padding in a dress coat, 
 will outweigh it all with them ten thousand times. 
 Upon my word I don't know that I am surprised. 
 I am not surprised at anything that our American 
 girls do. Half of them marry barbers, with castles 
 in Spain — Polish counts — greasy grandees — bankrupt 
 barons, who are quite willing to. let 'em go home to 
 papa, so that they can have their separate allowance, 
 only it must be fat, you know. I beg your pardon, 
 old friend. Forgive me if I have wounded your 
 feelings, but I can't see you forgetting your own 
 honor and self-respect for any woman that breathes. 
 What are you but a gentleman ? Can a man be 
 anything more? When women throw away what is 
 richer than all they keep, who is to suffer but them- 
 selves ? True love — bah ! I suppose there is true love, 
 just as there are true ghosts — only one doesn't run 
 
 across 
 
 D. Hush ! Did you not tell me a moment ago 
 that you were to be married yourself? Are you not 
 in love ? 
 
 C. By Jove ! I was near forgetting it ! Yes, I am 
 considerably in love myself, now you mention it, and 
 I'll take back what I said. But I'm going to be off 
 now, I'm going to tell all New York that you're at 
 home. I'm a huge gossip — what I know, everybody 
 knows, {going) 
 
 D. Stay ! before you go, tell me the name of your 
 fiancee. 
 
70 TWO CITIES. 
 
 C. Can't be done. It's a secret, a most momen- 
 tous secret. You know her very well — you'd be 
 very much takeu aback about it, after what I have 
 said. 
 
 D. Good Heavens! Can he have said what he did 
 with an object ? Can it be that she is to marry 
 him ? (aside) 
 
 C. By the way, I'm going to bring the lady to see 
 you! 
 
 D. Ah! 
 
 C. Yes, the 'identical one. I should have told you 
 that you're quite a hero already, and the town is go- 
 iug to make a lion of yon when you get out. 
 They've all heard of your pistol-practice on the 
 Champs Elysees, you know — well, good-bye. (go- 
 ing) 
 
 D. Don't go ! Tell me first, at any rate, where 
 Ethel is; she will goto her friends, I presume 
 
 C. You mean Miss Eeynart ? Well, I can't say. 
 One's friends are not always the ones to go to when 
 one's in distress — we're apt to find much more mercy 
 among our enemies. There's very little gratitude in 
 society. When you're in adversity, go to people 
 you've snubbed — they may possibly take a little com- 
 fortable revenge by heaping coals of fire upon your 
 head. Your friends have no such motive. How- 
 ever, I believe Miss Eeynart is expected to live with 
 the Van Tiers — that is.' by the Van Tiers themselves. 
 Well, now, good-bye. (shakes hands, and exit, L.) 
 
 D. And so she is* to marry him ! Such is my fate ! It 
 is for me to worship her, and wait and follow her — 
 to cross the ocean, to throw away my fortune, to 
 peril my life, that she may come back and be an- 
 other's. " Well, at all events, I can't blame him. He 
 is a good fellow, and I hope she will be happy, (enter 
 Ethel in the garb of a sister of the Order of St. Mary) 
 Ah ! it is you ! You come as noiselessly as an 
 angel; and you come to a very lonely man. Heaven 
 will bless you for it. 
 
 E. I come only as my duty to my vows and my 
 Sisterhood. I deserve no blessing lor that. 
 
TWO CITIES. 71 
 
 D. Ah ! then you do not believe that duty per- 
 formed brings a blessing, even were I to say that it 
 was your duty, and not a charity to me that brings 
 you here ! 
 
 E. How are you to-day, sir ? Better, I know, 
 since you are sitting np. 
 
 D. I think [I might be better if I could see your 
 face. 
 
 E. But that yon can never do, sir. And I can not 
 come here again. You are not poor and friendless. 
 You had a friend who left you as I came up. It is 
 only to the poor and friendless that my vows bid me 
 minister. 
 
 D. Can you find one more prostrate and desolate ? 
 One friend did leave me ; but he was a man. I have 
 no mother, no sister, no friend of your own gentle 
 sex ; and there is no woman's hand in all the world to 
 take my own. I am homesick for a home I never had, 
 and aching for a love I never knew. Will you leave 
 me like all the rest ? 
 
 E. Believe me, sir, I am your friend. But re- 
 member who I am, and to whom you speak ! I am 
 a Sister of Charity, trying to do my duty. You speak 
 of human love. Doubtless — doubtless that is mighty, 
 doubtless that is holy — but with that I have nothing 
 to do. 
 
 D. (aside) Surely I have heard that voice before ? 
 
 (As Ethel approaches to lay a small volume upon the 
 light stand at his side, he hastily overturns the picture 
 upon it, sd that it falls face downward, and seizes her 
 by the arm. ) 
 
 Will you let me look upon your face ? 
 
 E. Ah ! sir, remember who I am ; remember my 
 vows ! And oh ! if you should see my face once, you 
 would never wish to look upon it again ! 
 
 D. Ethel! Ethel! my own darling! my child! Do. 
 you think that I do not know you ? No, I will not 
 let you go ! Nothing but death shall ever part us 
 more ! You shall never leave me any more ! (draws 
 her to him, and clasps her in his arms) 
 
72 TWO CITIES. 
 
 (Enter Me. Clyne and Fanny, l.) 
 Cl. Hullo, old boy ! You didn't expect us, but 
 
 here we are ! 
 
 F. T suppose you are not in the habit of receiving 
 
 young ladies in your room, but — 1 — I beg pardon, 
 
 but I see that you are 
 
 D. (to Ethel) There, now, you see that there is 
 no help for it. Do you not see that you can never 
 leave me any more ? 
 
 E. (unveiling) Yes, Fanny, he has received me ! 
 
 P. Why, Ethel ! (hisses her) Was it to come here 
 that you ran away from us two weeks ago ? 
 
 Cl. Why, Ethel ! you are my sister now, and I 
 can call you Ethel if I like, you know, (makes as if 
 about to kiss Iter) 
 
 F. (taking him by the arm) There, there ! that 
 will do, sir ! You can go and sit down, now. You 
 are not upon quite as intimate terms with that young 
 lady as you seem to fancy ! 
 
 Cl. (retiring) Well, it's awfully ta if a fellow 
 can't kiss his own sister ! 
 
 (Enter Me. Chitty and Miss Claee.) 
 
 C. I hope we're not in anybody's way ! You see, 
 Dalton, I've brought you the lady ! 
 
 D. You don't say so ! Why, Chitty, what is to 
 become of Miss Parker ? 
 
 C. Miss Parker may go to 
 
 D. Hush ! She may go, I suppose, to the place 
 over the door of which there is something written 
 about " leaving hope behind" ! « 
 
 C. Precisely ! only they've taken that inscription 
 down, now. 
 
 D. And what have they there instead ? 
 
 C. Ici ran Parle Francais, I believe. You don't 
 say so! (to Miss C, l.) 
 
 D. Why, Miss Clare, are you and he really 
 
 • Miss C. So it seems. 
 
 C. So it seems. Don't it ? The Mrs. Chitty that 
 is to be ! 
 
 D. And I have anticipated you, and am ready to 
 present you with the Mrs. Dalton that is to be ! 
 
TWO CITIES. 73 
 
 F. (poking Clyne with her parasol) Say some- 
 thing ! Say something! (aside to him) 
 
 Cl. Ladies and gentlemen — I mean gentlemen 
 and ladies ! Fanny, here, says she thinks that it 
 might be awfully ta just now, to announce the 
 future Mrs. Clyne ! 
 
 F. You wretch ? I didn't say anything of the sort ! 
 
 Miss Cl. Pshaw! That's no news. I've known it 
 for a year! 
 
 C. Pshaw ! That's no news. I've known it for a 
 month ! 
 
 D. Pshaw! That's no news. I've known it for an 
 hour! 
 
 E. Pshaw! That's no news. I've known it always! 
 C. Its been as plain as the nose on your face for at 
 
 least a year! 
 
 F. Nonsense! Haven't I hated him and detested 
 him ! 
 
 C. That's just the way to do it? The woman who 
 detests is lost! That's the way the future Mrs. 
 Chitty began with me! 
 
 Cl. Well, you may have known it for a year or a 
 month. But, 'pon my soul, Iv'e only known it for a 
 fortnight ! I'm not so sure of it now, as I'd like to 
 be! 
 
 (Mes. Montgomeey Slashikgtok is heard without) 
 
 Mes. M. S. This way ladies, if you please. If Mr. 
 Dalton had only* informed me that this was his recep- 
 tion day, I should have had a footman, ladies, at the 
 door, to show you up. My poor papa always had at 
 least three feet — I mean three footmen, handy — ah! 
 ladies, I was not always at the head of a Ladies' 
 Home, in a strictly private family in this city, ladies, 
 where the highest references are given and required. I 
 was once the pampered darling of delicate and idoliz- 
 ing parents of fabulous wealth, and reared in the lap 
 of luxury. It's hard, madam, very hard, indeed, and if 
 — for one can't dress like a pig, you know — and if the 
 young gentlemen will fall in love with vou, you 
 7 
 
74 TWO CITIES. 
 
 know, how, I ask, and how, I repeat, is one to 
 help it ! (she enters, l. followed by Mrs. Van Tier and 
 Muchicatawney) 
 
 Mrs. V. T. And this is where my children are ! 
 I see it all ! Why, Ethel, how could you ran away 
 from us ! (kisses her) You don't mean it ! A Sister 
 of St. Mary's ! Well, there is another matrimonial 
 blow to fall upon that devoted Sisterhood! They 
 must lose you, I see ! 
 
 D. I believe that she has made up her mind to be 
 resigned to the inevitable ! 
 
 Mrs. V. T. Oh ! you lovesick children ! (counting 
 them) One, • two, three; three couples ! What is to 
 become of me! Oh! Muchicatawney, if you should 
 run off and get married now, what would become of 
 me! 
 
 E. Ah ! you will live in the love of your children 
 and their husbands, (rising and placing her hand in 
 Daltox's. He kisses it) I'll answer for mine ! 
 
 Mrs. V. T. Live with my children ! No, indeed, 
 I won't do anything of the sort ! I'll get married 
 myself! (to the audience) Is there no eligible 
 
 Mrs. M. S. (coming forward) Stop ! that's not the 
 way it's done. Say — A few single gentlemen can be 
 accommodated in a Ladies' Home, in a strictly private 
 family, where the highest references are given and 
 required ; and then, if they will fall in love with you, 
 how can you help it, you know! 
 
 (Curtain - falls to Air from " The Bohemian 
 Girl," " Then You'll Remember Me.") 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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