v. Wolters (_taking out the key_).
Don't thank me. I feel as if he could hear it in there.
The Lady (_shuddering involuntarily_).
No--no! (v. Wolters _turns the key in the keyhole unavailingly._) Won't
it work?--Heavens, why your hand is trembling. Let me have it.
v. Wolters (_with a last attempt at resistance_).
The keys were entrusted to _me_, Countess.
The Lady (_coaxingly_).
Oh, do let me have it. (_Sits at the writing-table and opens the
drawer. With a low cry of surprise._) Empty!
v. Wolters (_bending over her_).
Empty?
The Lady.
Are you sure that this was----?
v. Wolters.
Yes, that was the drawer in which he kept his private papers. I'm sure
of it.
The Lady (_staring straight ahead_).
Well, how can you explain----?
v. Wolters.
Perhaps he burned everything.
The Lady (_springing to her feet_).
And perhaps not!--Who knows?--This is the way he played with the honour
of the woman who gave him all! This is my thanks! This is the action of
a gentleman!
v. Wolters.
No gentleman, Countess, can do more than let himself be shot for a
woman.
The Lady.
Who asked him to do it? Was it my fault if jealousy of Renoir drove him
mad? And perhaps this is really his revenge! Perhaps we'll live to see
even more interesting disclosures!--This is my reward! This-- (Daisy
_appears at the door in the centre._) What do you want?
Daisy.