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

won’t be like it five minutes after I catch him; for I tell you that if ever —

      NAPOLEON (shouting furiously for the innkeeper). Giuseppe! (To the Lieutenant, out of all patience.) Hold your tongue, sir, if you can.

      LIEUTENANT. I warn you it’s no use to try to put the blame on me. (Plaintively.) How was I to know the sort of fellow he was? (He takes a chair from between the sideboard and the outer door; places it near the table; and sits down.) If you only knew how hungry and tired I am, you’d have more consideration.

      GIUSEPPE (returning). What is it, excellency?

      NAPOLEON (struggling with his temper). Take this — this officer. Feed him; and put him to bed, if necessary. When he is in his right mind again, find out what has happened to him and bring me word. (To the Lieutenant.) Consider yourself under arrest, sir.

      LIEUTENANT (with sulky stiffness). I was prepared for that. It takes a gentleman to understand a gentleman. (He throws his sword on the table. Giuseppe takes it up and politely offers it to Napoleon, who throws it violently on the couch.)

      GIUSEPPE (with sympathetic concern). Have you been attacked by the Austrians, lieutenant? Dear, dear, dear!

      LIEUTENANT (contemptuously). Attacked! I could have broken his back between my finger and thumb. I wish I had, now. No: it was by appealing to the better side of my nature: that’s what I can’t get over. He said he’d never met a man he liked so much as me. He put his handkerchief round my neck because a gnat bit me, and my stock was chafing it. Look! (He pulls a handkerchief from his stock. Giuseppe takes it and examines it.)

      GIUSEPPE (to Napoleon). A lady’s handkerchief, excellency. (He smells it.) Perfumed!

      NAPOLEON. Eh? (He takes it and looks at it attentively.) Hm! (He smells it.) Ha! (He walks thoughtfully across the room, looking at the handkerchief, which he finally sticks in the breast of his coat.)

      LIEUTENANT. Good enough for him, anyhow. I noticed that he had a woman’s hands when he touched my neck, with his coaxing, fawning ways, the mean, effeminate little hound. (Lowering his voice with thrilling intensity.) But mark my words, General. If ever —

      THE LADY’S VOICE (outside, as before). Giuseppe!

      LIEUTENANT (petrified). What was that?

      GIUSEPPE. Only a lady upstairs, lieutenant, calling me.

      LIEUTENANT. Lady!

      VOICE. Giuseppe, Giuseppe: where ARE you?

      LIEUTENANT (murderously). Give me that sword. (He strides to the couch; snatches the sword; and draws it.)

      GIUSEPPE (rushing forward and seizing his right arm.) What are you thinking of, lieutenant? It’s a lady: don’t you hear that it’s a woman’s voice?

      LIEUTENANT. It’s HIS voice, I tell you. Let me go. (He breaks away, and rushes to the inner door. It opens in his face; and the Strange Lady steps in. She is a very attractive lady, tall and extraordinarily graceful, with a delicately intelligent, apprehensive, questioning face — perception in the brow, sensitiveness in the nostrils, character in the chin: all keen, refined, and original. She is very feminine, but by no means weak: the lithe, tender figure is hung on a strong frame: the hands and feet, neck and shoulders, are no fragile ornaments, but of full size in proportion to her stature, which considerably exceeds that of Napoleon and the innkeeper, and leaves her at no disadvantage with the lieutenant. Only her elegance and radiant charm keep the secret of her size and strength. She is not, judging by her dress, an admirer of the latest fashions of the Directory; or perhaps she uses up her old dresses for travelling. At all events she wears no jacket with extravagant lappels, no Greco-Tallien sham chiton, nothing, indeed, that the Princesse de Lamballe might not have worn. Her dress of flowered silk is long waisted, with a Watteau pleat behind, but with the paniers reduced to mere rudiments, as she is too tall for them. It is cut low in the neck, where it is eked out by a creamy fichu. She is fair, with golden brown hair and grey eyes.)

      (She enters with the self-possession of a woman accustomed to the privileges of rank and beauty. The innkeeper, who has excellent natural manners, is highly appreciative of her. Napoleon, on whom her eyes first fall, is instantly smitten self-conscious. His color deepens: he becomes stiffer and less at ease than before. She perceives this instantly, and, not to embarrass him, turns in an infinitely well bred manner to pay the respect of a glance to the other gentleman, who is staring at her dress, as at the earth’s final masterpiece of treacherous dissimulation, with feelings altogether inexpressible and indescribable. As she looks at him, she becomes deadly pale. There is no mistaking her expression: a revelation of some fatal error utterly unexpected, has suddenly appalled her in the midst of tranquillity, security and victory. The next moment a wave of color rushes up from beneath the creamy fichu and drowns her whole face. One can see that she is blushing all over her body. Even the lieutenant, ordinarily incapable of observation, and just now lost in the tumult of his wrath, can see a thing when it is painted red for him. Interpreting the blush as the involuntary confession of black deceit confronted with its victim, he points to it with a loud crow of retributive triumph, and then, seizing her by the wrist, pulls her past him into the room as he claps the door to, and plants himself with his back to it.)

      LIEUTENANT. So I’ve got you, my lad. So you’ve disguised yourself, have you? (In a voice of thunder.) Take off that skirt.

      GIUSEPPE (remonstrating). Oh, lieutenant!

      LADY (affrighted, but highly indignant at his having dared to touch her). Gentlemen: I appeal to you. Giuseppe. (Making a movement as if to run to Giuseppe.)

      LIEUTENANT (interposing, sword in hand). No you don’t.

      LADY (taking refuge with Napoleon). Ah, sir, you are an officer — a general. You will protect me, will you not?

      LIEUTENANT. Never you mind him, General. Leave me to deal with him.

      NAPOLEON. With him! With whom, sir? Why do you treat this lady in such a fashion?

      LIEUTENANT. Lady! He’s a man! the man I showed my confidence in. (Advancing threateningly.) Here you —

      LADY (running behind Napoleon and in her agitation embracing the arm which he instinctively extends before her as a fortification). Oh, thank you, General. Keep him away.

      NAPOLEON. Nonsense, sir. This is certainly a lady (she suddenly drops his arm and blushes again); and you are under arrest. Put down your sword, sir, instantly.

      LIEUTENANT. General: I tell you he’s an Austrian spy. He passed himself off on me as one of General Massena’s staff this afternoon; and now he’s passing himself off on you as a woman. Am I to believe my own eyes or not?

      LADY. General: it must be my brother. He is on General Massena’s staff. He is very like me.

      LIEUTENANT (his mind giving way). Do you mean to say that you’re not your brother, but your sister? — the sister who was so like me? — who had my beautiful blue eyes? It was a lie: your eyes are not like mine: they’re exactly like your own. What perfidy!

      NAPOLEON. Lieutenant: will you obey my orders and leave the room, since you are convinced at last that this is no gentleman?

      LIEUTENANT. Gentleman! I should think not. No gentleman would have abused my confi —

      NAPOLEON (out of all patience). Enough, sir, enough. Will you leave the room. I order you to leave the room.

      LADY. Oh, pray let ME go instead.

      NAPOLEON (drily). Excuse me, madame. With all respect to your brother, I do not yet understand what an officer on General Massena’s staff wants with my letters. I have some questions to put to you.

      GIUSEPPE (discreetly). Come, lieutenant. (He opens the door.)

      LIEUTENANT. I’m off. General: take warning by me: be on your guard against the better side of your nature. (To the lady.) Madame: my apologies. I thought you were the same person, only of the opposite sex; and that naturally misled me.

      LADY (sweetly). It was not your fault, was it? I’m so glad you’re not angry