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31 Cards in this Set
- Front
- Back
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CHICAGO: I've been ruined all my life, Dutchy. Never hurt me a bit. We just have to use the old pumpkin is all.
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Give me my shawl, please, Marie. I'm feeling chilly.
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CHICAGO: He must be out trying to peddle some paintings. I hope he makes it back before Andre.
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Well, I wish Monsieur Andre would just get here and let us know the worst. Cecile, my pills, please.
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CHICAGO: If it's to collect money, he'll be here before the train.
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You know Bastien Andre?
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CHICAGO: Well, I should think I do.
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Don't tell me you're also in his grip.
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CECILE: If you were a man you wouldn't have to.
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My smelling salts, Marie!
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CECILE: Yes, so you've claimed many times before.
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Oh Lord, oh Lord, what a dismal day.
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CHICAGO: And yet the sun is shining on us all. How much do you owe this scoundrel anyway?
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Enough to beggar me if he forecloses. Fifteen thousand francs. It was wrong, it was foolish, but I didn't know where else to go. And Andre was so soft-spoken, so smooth. He promised he would never press me. Now he as good as threatens to take all my property. Well, maybe he'll show some heart this time.
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CHICAGO: What's Andre being so sudden about all at once?
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Marie has refused him again.
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CHICAGO: You pretzel. They don't use swords in France. They fight with hairpins at thirty yards.
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Oh Lord, fifteen thousand francs!
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MILLET: Monsieur Leroux, how are you sir?
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My boy.
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DUTCHY: Good morning!
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Monsieur Andre.
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CECILE: It's not necessary. These are friends.
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Please let them be no hindrance.
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ANDRE: Leroux, your time is also up. Fifteen thousand francs, due tomorrow. Will you pay, or must I take action?
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Monsieur Andre, I know you'll give me time, just as you promised.
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ANDRE: Please do not complicate the matter with imaginary promises!
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Imaginary!
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ANDRE: Well, Leroux, what will it be? The money? Or Marie?
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Answer him, child.
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MARIE: No, father, no. You will spare me that.
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There dear. I know where your heart is.
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MARIE: Oh, father, I can't bear it. How can I make a beggar of you?
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My child, answer me this one question. Do you love this man?
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MARIE: NO.
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One more then: do you love Francois Millet?
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MARIE: Yes.
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Enough to endure poverty and hardship for his sake?
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MARIE: Oh, hunger, thirst, cold, everything!
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Then you have your answer, Monsieur Andre. Even though it ruin me.
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CECILE: I'm so sorry, Papa, I'm so sorry.
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There, there. Forget all about it.
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MILLET: Maybe I should rid the world of Jean-Francois Millet and let some fellow with the gift of success love her and make her happy.
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I am sorry for you, lad. If I could only help, but he's ruined me too.
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MARIE: Don't brood too long.
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Marie, my hot water bottle, please!
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CARON: No, thank you.
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Excuse me. Madame Tillou?
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WIDOW: How do you do, Monsieur Leroux?
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Madam, my heart goes out to you for your brother.
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WIDOW: Fear not, Monsieur. He might still recover. But I doubt it.
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Marie, my hot water bottle, please.
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MARIE: It's our father, you see.
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I was improvident, Madame. I owe fifteen thousand francs to one Bastien Andre, a scoundrel who calls himself a picture-dealer. He gave me until today at six o'clock.
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WIDOW: The blackguard. The scamp. The scoundrel. The sneak.
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I'm so heartsick I fear I will die!
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CECILE: It's more than he ever gave me.
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Oh, Madam, if you could beg Andre for mercy. Or somehow persuade him to extend the time. But it's after five o'clock. I fear there's no hope.
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WIDOW: Take a pen and write me a letter to this Mr. Erastus Anderson.
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Bastien Andre.
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Pardon. To Bastien Andre, pig-dealer.
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Picture-dealer.
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