60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

a difficult and dangerous feat.) This hand is more accustomed to the sword than to the pen.

      PETKOFF. It’s very good of you, Bluntschli, it is indeed, to let yourself be put upon in this way. Now are you quite sure I can do nothing?

      CATHERINE (in a low, warning tone). You can stop interrupting, Paul.

      PETKOFF (starting and looking round at her). Eh? Oh! Quite right, my love, quite right. (He takes his newspaper up, but lets it drop again.) Ah, you haven’t been campaigning, Catherine: you don’t know how pleasant it is for us to sit here, after a good lunch, with nothing to do but enjoy ourselves. There’s only one thing I want to make me thoroughly comfortable.

      CATHERINE. What is that?

      PETKOFF. My old coat. I’m not at home in this one: I feel as if I were on parade.

      CATHERINE. My dear Paul, how absurd you are about that old coat! It must be hanging in the blue closet where you left it.

      PETKOFF. My dear Catherine, I tell you I’ve looked there. Am I to believe my own eyes or not? (Catherine quietly rises and presses the button of the electric bell by the fireplace.) What are you shewing off that bell for? (She looks at him majestically, and silently resumes her chair and her needlework.) My dear: if you think the obstinacy of your sex can make a coat out of two old dressing gowns of Raina’s, your waterproof, and my mackintosh, you’re mistaken. That’s exactly what the blue closet contains at present. (Nicola presents himself.)

      CATHERINE (unmoved by Petkoff’s sally). Nicola: go to the blue closet and bring your master’s old coat here — the braided one he usually wears in the house.

      NICOLA. Yes, madam. (Nicola goes out.)

      PETKOFF. Catherine.

      CATHERINE. Yes, Paul?

      PETKOFF. I bet you any piece of jewellery you like to order from Sofia against a week’s housekeeping money, that the coat isn’t there.

      CATHERINE. Done, Paul.

      PETKOFF (excited by the prospect of a gamble). Come: here’s an opportunity for some sport. Who’ll bet on it? Bluntschli: I’ll give you six to one.

      BLUNTSCHLI (imperturbably). It would be robbing you, Major. Madame is sure to be right. (Without looking up, he passes another batch of papers to Sergius.)

      SERGIUS (also excited). Bravo, Switzerland! Major: I bet my best charger against an Arab mare for Raina that Nicola finds the coat in the blue closet.

      PETKOFF (eagerly). Your best char —

      CATHERINE (hastily interrupting him). Don’t be foolish, Paul. An Arabian mare will cost you 50,000 levas.

      RAINA (suddenly coming out of her picturesque revery). Really, mother, if you are going to take the jewellery, I don’t see why you should grudge me my Arab.

      (Nicola comes back with the coat and brings it to Petkoff, who can hardly believe his eyes.)

      CATHERINE. Where was it, Nicola?

      NICOLA. Hanging in the blue closet, madam.

      PETKOFF. Well, I am d —

      CATHERINE (stopping him). Paul!

      PETKOFF. I could have sworn it wasn’t there. Age is beginning to tell on me. I’m getting hallucinations. (To Nicola.) Here: help me to change. Excuse me, Bluntschli. (He begins changing coats, Nicola acting as valet.) Remember: I didn’t take that bet of yours, Sergius. You’d better give Raina that Arab steed yourself, since you’ve roused her expectations. Eh, Raina? (He looks round at her; but she is again rapt in the landscape. With a little gush of paternal affection and pride, he points her out to them and says) She’s dreaming, as usual.

      SERGIUS. Assuredly she shall not be the loser.

      PETKOFF. So much the better for her. I shan’t come off so cheap, I expect. (The change is now complete. Nicola goes out with the discarded coat.) Ah, now I feel at home at last. (He sits down and takes his newspaper with a grunt of relief.)

      BLUNTSCHLI (to Sergius, handing a paper). That’s the last order.

      PETKOFF (jumping up). What! finished?

      BLUNTSCHLI. Finished. (Petkoff goes beside Sergius; looks curiously over his left shoulder as he signs; and says with childlike envy) Haven’t you anything for me to sign?

      BLUNTSCHLI. Not necessary. His signature will do.

      PETKOFF. Ah, well, I think we’ve done a thundering good day’s work. (He goes away from the table.) Can I do anything more?

      BLUNTSCHLI. You had better both see the fellows that are to take these. (To Sergius.) Pack them off at once; and shew them that I’ve marked on the orders the time they should hand them in by. Tell them that if they stop to drink or tell stories — if they’re five minutes late, they’ll have the skin taken off their backs.

      SERGIUS (rising indignantly). I’ll say so. And if one of them is man enough to spit in my face for insulting him, I’ll buy his discharge and give him a pension. (He strides out, his humanity deeply outraged.)

      BLUNTSCHLI (confidentially). Just see that he talks to them properly, Major, will you?

      PETKOFF (officiously). Quite right, Bluntschli, quite right. I’ll see to it. (He goes to the door importantly, but hesitates on the threshold.) By the bye, Catherine, you may as well come, too. They’ll be far more frightened of you than of me.

      CATHERINE (putting down her embroidery). I daresay I had better. You will only splutter at them. (She goes out, Petkoff holding the door for her and following her.)

      BLUNTSCHLI. What a country! They make cannons out of cherry trees; and the officers send for their wives to keep discipline! (He begins to fold and docket the papers. Raina, who has risen from the divan, strolls down the room with her hands clasped behind her, and looks mischievously at him.)

      RAINA. You look ever so much nicer than when we last met. (He looks up, surprised.) What have you done to yourself?

      BLUNTSCHLI. Washed; brushed; good night’s sleep and breakfast. That’s all.

      RAINA. Did you get back safely that morning?

      BLUNTSCHLI. Quite, thanks.

      RAINA. Were they angry with you for running away from Sergius’s charge?

      BLUNTSCHLI. No, they were glad; because they’d all just run away themselves.

      RAINA (going to the table, and leaning over it towards him). It must have made a lovely story for them — all that about me and my room.

      BLUNTSCHLI. Capital story. But I only told it to one of them — a particular friend.

      RAINA. On whose discretion you could absolutely rely?

      BLUNTSCHLI. Absolutely.

      RAINA. Hm! He told it all to my father and Sergius the day you exchanged the prisoners. (She turns away and strolls carelessly across to the other side of the room.)

      BLUNTSCHLI (deeply concerned and half incredulous). No! you don’t mean that, do you?

      RAINA (turning, with sudden earnestness). I do indeed. But they don’t know that it was in this house that you hid. If Sergius knew, he would challenge you and kill you in a duel.

      BLUNTSCHLI. Bless me! then don’t tell him.

      RAINA (full of reproach for his levity). Can you realize what it is to me to deceive him? I want to be quite perfect with Sergius — no meanness, no smallness, no deceit. My relation to him is the one really beautiful and noble part of my life. I hope you can understand that.

      BLUNTSCHLI (sceptically). You mean that you wouldn’t like him to find out that the story about the ice pudding was a — a — a — You know.

      RAINA (wincing). Ah, don’t talk of it in that flippant way. I lied: I know it. But I did it to save your life. He would have killed you. That was the second time I ever