]
MRS. MEGAN. You're a foreigner.
FERRAND. It is true.
MRS. MEGAN. What do you do for a livin'?
FERRAND. I am an interpreter.
MRS. MEGAN. You ain't very busy, are you?
FERRAND. [With dignity.] At present I am resting.
MRS. MEGAN. [Looking at him and smiling.] How did you and 'im come
here?
FERRAND. Ma'moiselle, we would ask you the same question.
MRS. MEGAN. The gentleman let me. 'E's funny.
FERRAND. 'C'est un ange' [At MRS. MEGAN's blank stare he
interprets.] An angel!
MRS. MEGAN. Me luck's out-that's why I come.
FERRAND. [Rising.] Ah! Ma'moiselle! Luck! There is the little
God who dominates us all. Look at this old! [He points to TIMSON.]
He is finished. In his day that old would be doing good business.
He could afford himself--[He maker a sign of drinking.]--Then come
the motor cars. All goes--he has nothing left, only 'is 'abits of a
'cocher'! Luck!
TIMSON. [With a vague gesture--drowsily.] Kick the foreign beggars
out.
FERRAND. A real Englishman . . . . And look at me! My father
was merchant of ostrich feathers in Brussels. If I had been content
to go in his business, I would 'ave been rich.
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