IRMA [with her eye still glued to the apparatus]: Yes. It's the heroic Legionnaire falling to the sand. And that idiot Rachel has thrown a dart at his ear. He might have been disfigured. What an idea, having himself shot as if by an Arab, and dying--if you want to call it that!--at attention, on a sandpile! [A silence. She watches attentively.] Ah, Rachel's doctoring him. She's preparing a dressing for him, and he has a happy look. [Very much interested.] My, my, he seems to like it. I have a feeling he wants to alter his scenario and that starting today he's going to die in the military hospital, tucked in by his nurse...Another uniform to buy. Always expenses. [Suddenly anxious.] Say, I don't like that. Not one bit. I'm getting more and more worried about Rachel. She'd better not double-cross me the way Chantal did. [Turning around, to Carmen.] By the way, no news of Chantal?

CARMEN: None.

IRMA [picks up the apparatus again]: And the machine's not working right! What's he saying to her? He's explaining...she's listening...she understands. I'm afraid he understands too. [Buzzing again. She pushes down another switch and looks.] False alarm. It's the plumber leaving.

CARMEN: Which one?

IRMA: The real one.

--from The Balcony

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