Cashier. (Turning the register toward Gerald and handing him a pen) Just sign here, please. That’s right.
Séraphine. (Looking over Gerald’s shoulder) Ah, tu es—!
Cashier. Would you mind waiting a moment? I’ll have the rooms ready presently. (She goes out, up-stage, right.)
Séraphine. Ah, Mister Parkinson! Mrs. Parkinson! Que c’est drôle!
Gerald. Certainly; I couldn’t give our real names. It would be nice to put down “Mr. Gerald Forsyth and Mlle. Séraphine Chanoine-Malherbe”—especially as you told me yourself that your father knew of this hotel, and might come here and find us—nous surprendre ici.
Séraphine. It is a wicked thing, this that we have done. I know too, my father, he remember this hotel, well. He know the name: Hotel Gainsborough: he has been here before. Ecoute-moi bien—listen me—to me, dear. I think I have seen his gray hat.
Gerald. But there are hundreds of gray hats in London.
Séraphine. But I am sure I have seen the—the—paternal hat.
Gerald. Nonsense, my dear!
Séraphine. Ah, mon chéri!