The Man from Home | Page 3

with white and old-rose of the same shade as his
tie. His accent is that of a man of the world, and quite without
affectation. He comes at once upon his entrance to a chair at the table.]
[MICHELE enters at same time up left, with a folded newspaper.]
HAWCASTLE [as he enters]. Good-morning, Mariano!
MARIANO [bowing]. Milor' Hawcastle is serve.
[Takes HAWCASTLE'S hat and places it upon a stool behind table.]
MICHELE [hands HAWCASTLE newspaper from under his arm]. Il
Mattino, the morning journal from Napoli, Milor'.
HAWCASTLE [accepting paper and unfolding it]. No English papers?
MICHELE. Milor', the mail is late.
[Exit up left.]
HAWCASTLE [sitting]. And Madame de Champigny?
[MARIANO serves coffee, etc.]
[As HAWCASTLE speaks the COMTESSE DE CHAMPIGNY enters
from hotel. She is a pretty Frenchwoman of thirty-two. She wears a
fashionable summer Parisian morning dress, light and gay in color, a
short-sleeved little Empire jacket, and long gloves. She carries a
parasol. Her elaborately dressed hair is surmounted by a jaunty Parisian
toque.]
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [lifting her hand gayly as she enters,
and striking a little attitude before she descends the steps]. Me voici!
HAWCASTLE [half rising and bowing]. My esteemed relative is still
asleep?
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [speaking gayly, with a very slight

accent, as she crosses to a chair at the table]. I trust your beautiful son
has found much better employment--as our hearts would wish him to.
HAWCASTLE. He has. He's off on a canter with the little American,
thank God!
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [interjecting the word]. Bravo!
[She turns the hands of her gloves back and sips coffee, MARIANO
serving.]
HAWCASTLE [continuing]. But I didn't mean Almeric. I meant my
august sister-in-law.
[He reads the paper.]
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [smiling]. The amiable Lady Victoria
Hermione Trevelyan Creech has déjeuner in her apartment. What you
find to read?
HAWCASTLE. I'm such a duffer at Italian, but apparently the people
along the coast are having a scare over an escaped convict--a Russian.
MARIANO [starting slightly, drops a spoon noisily upon a plate on the
table]. Pardon, Milor'!
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [setting down her coffee abruptly]. A
Russian?
HAWCASTLE [translating with difficulty]. "An escaped Russian
bandit has been traced to Castellamare--"
[Pauses.]
MARIANO [awe-struck]. Castellamare--not twelve kilometres from
here!
HAWCASTLE [continuing]. "--and a confidential agent"--[looking
up]--secret-service man, I dare say--"has requested his arrest. But the

brigand tore himself"--[repeating slowly]--"tore himself"--What the
deuce does that mean?
MARIANO [bowing]. Pardon, Milor'--if I might--
HAWCASTLE. Quite right, Mariano!
[Handing him the paper.]
Translate for us.
MARIANO [reading rapidly, but with growing agitation which he tries
to conceal]. "The brigan' tore himself from the hands of the carabiniere
and without the doubts he conceal himself in some of those grotto near
Sorrento and searchment is being execute'. The agent of the Russian
embassy have inform' the bureau that this escaped one is a mos'
in-fay-mose robber and danger brigand."
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [quickly]. What name does the journal
say he has?
MARIANO [hurriedly]. It has not to say. That is all. Will Milor' and
Madame la Comtesse excuse me? And may I take the journal? There is
one who should see it.
HAWCASTLE [indifferently]. Very well.
MARIANO. Thank you, Milor'!
[Bows hastily and hurries out up left.]
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [gravely, drawing back from the table.]
I should like much to know his name.
HAWCASTLE [smiling, and eating composedly]. You may be sure it
isn't Ivanoff.
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [not changing her attitude]. How can
one know it is not [pauses and speaks the name very gravely] Ivanoff?

HAWCASTLE [laughing]. He wouldn't be called an infamous brigand.
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [very gravely]. That, my friend, may be
only Italian journalism.
HAWCASTLE. Pooh! This means a highwayman--[finishes his coffee
coolly]--not--not an embezzler, Hélène.
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [taking a deep breath and sinking back
in her chair with a fixed gaze]. I am glad to believe it, but I care for no
more to eat. I have some foolish feeling of unsafety. It is now two
nights that I dream of him--of Ivanoff--bad dreams for us both, my
friend.
HAWCASTLE [laughing]. What rot! It takes more than a dream to
bring a man back from Siberia.
MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY. Then I pray there has been no more
than dreams.
[Music of mandolins and guitars heard off to the right with song--"The
Fisherman's Song."]
[Enter ETHEL gayly and quickly from the grove, her face radiant. She
is a very pretty American girl of twenty. She wears a light-brown linen
skirted coat, fitting closely, and a country riding-skirt of the same
material and color, with boots, a shirt-waist, collar and tie, and
three-cornered hat. She carries a riding-crop. She is followed by three
musicians (two mandolins and a guitar), who laughingly continue the
song. They are shabby fellows, two of them barefooted, wearing