The Winged Beetle

190 MR TODD EUPHEMIA. Oh, sir, you distress me—indeed you distress me ! DELHOMME. I would not brush the bloom from off the lily—and yet— EUPHEMIA. My god !—Monsieur Delhomme, I am going to shock you. Oh ! Oh ! [She buries her face in her hands. He starts back, surprised at the turn things are taking, and at the violence of her emotion and of its expression. DELHOMME. What is it ! Are you ill ! Have I—— EUPHEMIA. [Steady and straight before him.] I am another man’s—his—his mistress. There ! [He reels, catches a chair and saves himself. Her breast heaves ; swallowing a sob, she runs out of the room. DELHOMME. [Utterly dazed]. I—I—oh, my god ! My father ! My God ! I thought her—oh, I dare not say it— I will not think it. [On his knees, clutching at the chair.] My god, what shall I do ! She was my life, my hope, my flower, my star, my sun ! What shall I do ! Help me ! help me ! Who shall console me ? [He continues in silent prayer, sobbing]. [The door opens ; MR. TODD steals into the room on tiptoe, bends over him and whispers in his ear. The expression of anguish falls from his face ; a calm steals over him ; he smiles in beatitude and his pips move in rapture. He rises, shakes TODD by the hand ; they go out together. [GRANDFATHER wheeled into the room by THOMAS, CHARLEY walking by him. The servant leaves them.