_]
All solid--I should gain at least one thousand francs. 'Tis due me--due
me for all these years!
[_Closes the bag. Pause._]
No, not the candles--I owe him that much--
[_He puts the candlesticks on mantel; takes up cudgel, knapsack, and
shoes; jumps out window and disappears. Pause._]
[_Enter_ MADAME. _She shivers; discovers the open window._]
MADAME. Why is that window open? I closed it last night myself.
Oh! Could it be possible?
[_Crosses and looks at open cupboard._]
It is gone!
[_Enter the_ BISHOP _from his room._]
BISHOP. Good morning, Madame!
MADAME. Your Reverence! The silver is gone! Where is that man?
BISHOP. In the alcove sleeping, I suppose.
[_Madame runs to curtains of alcove and looks in. Enter_
MADEMOISELLE. _Madame turns._]
He is gone!
MLLE. Gone?
MADAME. Aye, gone--gone! He has stolen our silver, the
beautiful plates and the ladle! I'll inform the police at once!
[_Starts off. The Bishop stops her._]
BISHOP. Wait!--Let me ask you this--was that silver ours?
MADAME. Why--why not?
BISHOP. Because it has always belonged to the poor. I have
withheld it wrongfully.
MLLE. Its loss makes no difference to Madame or me.
MADAME. Oh, no! But what is your Reverence to eat from now?
BISHOP. Are there no pewter plates?
MADAME. Pewter has an odor.
BISHOP. Iron ones, then.
MADAME. Iron has a taste.
BISHOP. Well, then, wooden plates.
[_A knock is heard at street door.
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