_Lucienne_.
He's very thickly covered o'er with snow.
_Henri_ (_discovering the_ Baron _also_).
What! two of them! I can't believe it true.
_Lucienne_ (_discovering_ Gaspard).
Oh dear! I never dreamed there would be _two_!
_Gaspard_ (_rising, and staggering helplessly toward back of stage_)
[_aside_].
I feel that he observes me like a lynx;
No doubt of some dark punishment he thinks.
I'll try to escape from his revengeful glare;
Perhaps he'll drag me back, though, by the hair.
He turns his head--pursues me with his eye.
My doom is sealed.--I'm very young to die!
[_Enter_ Eloise _at R. She comes slowly and cautiously upon stage.
As she does so_, Gaspard _conceals himself behind the curtain of
window at R. of chimney-place._ Eloise _discovers the_ Baron,
_gives a sudden start, and then addresses audience in quick,
agitated aside._]
_Eloise_ [_aside_].
Beyond a doubt Gaspard is waiting there,
In beard and wig disguised with subtle care.
The artful scamp! how easy to perceive
This web of crafty guile he means to weave!
So, so, my clever trickster, you shall meet
Your match to-night in cunning and deceit.
[_Aloud_] (_addressing the_ Baron.)
Pray are you Santa Claus? If this be true,
It gives me joy, great Saint, to welcome you.
_Gaspard_ (_half hidden behind curtain_) [_aside_].
What store of courage has the charming jade!
Now on my life, she's not a bit afraid!
She thanks her stars for this fine stroke of luck;
Her curiosity has lent her pluck.
_Baron_ [_aside_].
It's Eloise.--An awkward thing, forsooth,
If this young waiting-maid should learn the truth!
No gossip for a mile but straight would know
That I, their lord, had wandered his château
At midnight, clad more like a circus clown
Than some proud nobleman of high renown.
How _shall_ I act? what say? I'm sick with dread.
The minx would doubtless follow if I fled.
Kris Kringle's gone, and I escape his ire,
Yet leave the frying-pan to find the fire.
[_While the_ Baron _speaks this aside_, Eloise _slowly draws nearer
to him, examining his appearance as closely as the dim light will
allow. Her manner shows extreme suppressed fun; she now and then
places her hand over her mouth, as though to restrain herself from
laughing aloud. Meanwhile_ Gaspard, _still half concealed behind
curtain, watches very intently what is passing. He seems distressed
by the boldness of_ Eloise. _He makes one or two gestures of eager
learning, but_ Eloise _entirely fails to perceive his presence.
This affords_ Gaspard _opportunity for much comic alarm and
generally humorous by-play. The_ Baron _retreats a little to L. as_
Eloise _approaches him from R. At length_ Eloise _addresses him, in
a voice of mock gravity._]
_Eloise_.
Great Saint of Christmas! pardon, I beseech,
My wish to address you in poor mortal speech.
Yet now, while gazing on your reverend face,
I long to beg of you one special grace.
_Gaspard_ (_with signs of marked surprise_) [_aside_].
Her words arouse in me an interest keen.
"One special grace." What can the vixen mean?
_Baron_ [_aside_].
Was ever man more oddly placed than I?
She'll recognize my voice if I reply.
_Eloise_.
Ah! treat me not with silent unconcern,
But grant, great Saint, the boon for which I yearn!
_Gaspard_ [_aside_].
What is the boon that she has come to seek?
And why on earth does Santa Claus not speak?
_Baron_ [_aside_].
I must respond; it is my only choice.
Yet _can_ I properly disguise my voice?
_Henri_ (_from doorway at R._) [_aside_].
It's Eloise; some favor she would crave.
Upon my word, she's wonderfully brave.
_Lucienne_ (_from doorway at L._) [_aside_].
How dare she go as near to him as that?
And where's the Santa Claus who wore the hat?
[Henri _and_ Lucienne _have been standing on the threshold of
either chamber in foreground, with only their heads peeping forth
from either doorway. They seem immensely concerned and occupied
with all that is now going on. A little while previously they have
discovered each other's presence, and made mutual signs of
astonishment._ Henri _has lifted two fingers of right hand, thus
indicating by expressive pantomime what surprise it has given him
to find that there are two Santa Clauses instead of one._ Lucienne
_has responded by similar pantomime._]
_Eloise_.
You're silent still. Oh, is it, then, because
You speak some different language, Santa Claus?
I know, for my part, but a single tongue;
I left off going to school when rather young.
[_Aside_] (_with great secret amusement, while she looks toward
audience._)
The wily rascal, he is dumb from fear,
His voice being so familiar to my ear.
I'll make him talk, or else my woman's wit
Is less adroit than I imagine it.
[_Aloud once more, and in a voice of earnest pleading._]
Majestic Saint! how pitiless you are!
I wished to question you of one Gaspard,
A serving-man in Baron Beautemps' train,
Who loves me, and who grieves at my disdain.
[Eloise _now lifts finger roguishly at audience, and turns sly
looks toward the_ Baron _as she does so._ Gaspard _leans forward
from curtains, and listens with deep attention._]
_Baron_ (_speaking in a very gruff, hollow voice, totally unlike his
usual tones_).
Gaspard? Of him what question would you ask?
To deal with sweethearts never was my task.
If love's coquettish moods your phrase would paint,
'Twere best you should consult another saint.
[Eloise _shows marked surprise as these words are spoken. The voice
which the_ Baron _uses evidently arouses her astonishment. But by
the time he has ended she is once more looking at audience with
same sly expression as before. Meanwhile_ Henri _and_ Lucienne, _as
though terrified by the stern voice of him whom they suppose to be
Santa Claus, close doors at R. and L., disappearing wholly from
stage._]
_Eloise_ [_aside_].
He's changed his voice; he's warier than I guessed.
Well, now, till all's revealed I'll never rest.
[_Aloud._]
Nay, mighty Saint, I tell it to my grief,
This lad, Gaspard, torments me past belief.
In hall or corridor I scarce can pause
But there he waits to accost me, Santa Claus.
His flattery turns me ill; with sigh and groan
He vows that Nature wrought my heart from stone;
Now rude and fierce, now penitent and meek,
He swears to hang himself three times a week;
But most, indeed, my wearied soul regrets
The doleful chant of stupid canzonets
Which night by night below my window's ledge,
Perched like a monkey on a slant roof's edge,
He drones when all the vast château is mute,
Hugging against his breast a crack-stringed lute.
_Gaspard_ [_aside, and in tones of great melancholy_].
Oh, Eloise, relentless and untrue!
Complained of as a nuisance! and by you!
[Gaspard _covers face with hands, as though overwhelmed by grief._]
_Baron_ [_at first aside_].
Good! I have fooled her, and with effort faint.
How easy it is to play the Christmas Saint!
A few more words that neatly shall beguile,
And lo! I'll flit away in ghostly style!
[_Aloud, to_ Eloise.]
No more, I pray. 'Tis not for me to deal
With lovers' destinies, their woe or weal.
That here within my presence you should come
But proves you singularly venturesome.
This once to o'erlook your rashness I will deign;
Pardon hereafter you shall seek in vain.
So stern the penalty for deeds thus bold,
Your very blood would curdle were it told;
Both limbs would fail your trembling form beneath,
Both jaws would scarce contain your chattering teeth.
[_The_ Baron _speaks these latter words in a terribly severe tone._
Gaspard _audibly shivers as he hears them._ Eloise _recoils and
seems at first quite horrified. Then suddenly, as though reminding
herself that it is, after all, not Santa Claus, but only her
sweetheart disguised for the purpose of deceiving her, she tosses
her head and regards the_ Baron _very courageously, placing a hand,
in the most saucy way, on each of her hips._]
_Eloise_.
No doubt I should be frightened half to death--
Should scream, should stagger, and should catch my breath,
And thus, indeed, I really might behave--
Being not by temperament very brave--
Did I not chance to more than merely guess
The shrewd impostor whom I now address.
_Baron_ [_aside_].
Impostor? She discovers, then, my sham?
Has she discovered also who I am?
[_Aloud, in same voice as before_].
Retire in haste, young maid, and wisely shirk
To insult Kris Kringle at his goodly work!
_Eloise_ (_with sudden anger, stamping her foot, and, coming much nearer
to the_ Baron).
Retire, indeed! And do you still surmise
I've not the sense to pierce your thin disguise?
I wonder, wicked knave that you appear,
The real Kris Kringle does not find you here,
And soundly punish you for this offense
In due proportion to its impudence.
[Eloise _here gives a loud, mocking laugh, and abruptly tears wig
from the_ Baron's _head, afterward pulling beard from his face
also._]
Of me, Gaspard, I'll teach you to make sport
With mask and mummery of this idle sort.
I'll bid you learn if Eloise will bear
Being juggled with by stratagems unfair.
I'll have you know--
[Illustration:
_Eloise._ AH, HEAVEN! WHAT HAVE I DONE?
_Baron._ YOU'VE COUNTED ON YOUR GAME BEFORE 'TWAS WON.]
(_Discovering that it is the_ Baron, _and showing great
consternation._)
Ah, Heaven! what have I done?
_Baron_ (_good-humoredly_).
You've counted on your game before 'twas won.
[Henri _and_ Lucienne _now peep forth cautiously from doors R. and
L. They gaze for a moment in amazement at the_ Baron, _and then
advance toward him from either side of stage._]
_Henri_.
Papa, as I'm alive! How strange it seems!
_Lucienne_.
It's like the way things happen in one's dreams.
[Gaspard, _as if thunderstruck, now quits his hiding-place, taking
off hat and throwing aside his pack._]
_Gaspard_ (_to_ Eloise).
Ah, then, Eloise, those cruel words you spoke
Were all intended as a harmless joke?
_Eloise_ (_agitatedly_).
Oh yes, Gaspard. I thought 'twas you disguised.
I never felt so startled--so surprised!
_Henri_.
'Tis such a disappointment! I could cry!
_Lucienne_.
I'd help you if you did, Henri.
_Baron_ (_caressing both children_).
And why?
_Henri_.
Two Santa Clauses! Think, papa, what fun!
And now you haven't left us even one!
_Baron_.
Nay, never mind, dear children. We have seen
Two loving hearts grow blithesome and serene;
Made dark misunderstandings melt away
From both, like sombre vapors touched with day.
[_The_ Baron _looks toward_ Gaspard _and_ Eloise, _who hold each
other's hands, exchanging smiles of reconciliation._]
_Eloise_ (_with sudden anxiety, addressing the_ Baron).
Oh, master, will you pardon my rude act?
_Baron_.
Agreed; but one condition I exact:
Gaspard and you must promise both to keep
My own sly masquerade a secret deep.
_Gaspard and Eloise_.
We promise, master!
_Baron_.
Well, so be it; and I
Perchance will well reward you by-and-by.
The Baroness in my hearing lately said
That Eloise was still too young to wed.
But possibly persuasion may invent
Some private means of making her relent.
[Illustration:
_Gaspard_. OH, THANKS! A THOUSAND THANKS, BENIGNANT LORD!]
_Gaspard_ (_delightedly_).
Oh, thanks! a thousand thanks, benignant lord!
_Henri_ (_to his father_).
Shall Lucienne and myself gain no reward
For keeping silent, as your will decrees,
Like happy Gaspard and his Eloise?
_Baron_ (_taking one of the children's hands in each of his own_).
Ah, when you wake to-morrow, both shall find
Your stockings with sweet treasures richly lined.
Hie straight to bed, and ere the day return
Let each one here a valued lesson learn:
Gaspard and I shall grant, grown more discreet,
That danger paves the pathway to deceit;
While you, Henri, Lucienne, Eloise, shall own
That oft the unknown had best remain unknown;
Nor strive as now, on Christmas-eve, to delve
In goblin mysteries, while the clock strikes twelve.
[_All join hands and bow, as curtain falls._]