We
find that Gotte des Trembles, Helene's bosom friend, is also in love
with Philippe, and is determined to let him know it. But Philippe
resists her blandishments with melancholy austerity, and when the
curtain falls on the second act, things seem to be perfectly safe and in
order. Helene a widow, and Philippe austere--what harm can Gotte
possibly do?
The fact is, M. Donnay is carefully keeping a secret from us. Philippe
is not Helene's first lover; her son, Georges, is not the child of her
late husband; and Gotte, and Gotte alone, knows the truth. Had we also
been initiated from the outset (and nothing would have been easier or
more natural--three words exchanged between Gotte and Helene would have
done it) we should have been at no loss to foresee the impending drama,
and the sense of irony would have tripled the interest of the
intervening scenes. The effect of M. Donnay's third act is not a whit
more forcible because it comes upon us unprepared. We learn at the
beginning that Philippe's austerity has not after all been proof against
Gotte's seductions; but it has now returned upon him embittered by
remorse, and he treats Gotte with sternness approaching to contumely.
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