Quartet

So it's for two people arriving from Lyon

on Friday from three onwards.

- It's settled. - Good evening, Mrs. Hautchamp.

- Any mail? - It's been brought up already.

Thank you.

I wonder if she really is married to that Mr. Zelli.

As long as they pay the rent, what do you care?

Mado, look at this. Napoleon's.

- Napoleon's? - Mm-hmm, Napoleon's saber.

"As a token of submission, respect and esteem

for Napoleon Bonaparte, the hero of Aboukir. Mourad Bey."

One of his sabers, I suppose.

He must have had several of them.

A man like Napoleon.

- Stephan? - Well?

Where did you get that sword?

From a Frenchman named de Coligny. It belongs to his family.

Why are they selling it?

Because they need the money. Everybody needs money.

You know that.

I know that.

But shouldn't he be taking it to a museum?

He has to do it on the sly.

His uncle and his mother don't want him to sell it.

They would stop him if they could.

Oh. He probably has no right to sell it

without his mother's consent.

His mother has nothing to say.

What are you going to do with it?

I'm going to send it to America.

But... that's illegal.

I saw a dress in the window of Jean Veron's today.

Sort of a peach color.

You might call it apricot.

- It would suit you. - Really?

You don't think I'm too pale?

- You can't take strong colors. - You're probably right.

Except black. I like you in black.

My black crepe de Chine. That's chic, isn't it?

Makes you look like a little nun.

We should get you a white lace collar to go with it.

Egg, oven-baked with tarragon. Montespan soup.

Filet of ham in a pepper sauce.

Potted meat from Tours. Russian hors-d'oeuvres.

Ah, there you are, Anna.

Lola's in the Select. She'll be along in a minute.

I'm not in my assiette, as the dear French say.

- Now what are we gonna do? - I've been trying to decide who's

worse: men or women.

- Aren't we ready to order? - Women are worse.

They'll kick your face to bits if you'll let them.

Oh, darling, don't be depressed.

H.J., do call Lefranc. We are ready to order.

Monsieur Lefranc.

Merci beaucoup.

Did you see Cri-Cri, H.J.?

Considering she came to my party last Saturday.

Oh, don't worry about her, my dear. She's having her little hour.

Till her painter throws her out.

She's a character. She's a type.

They have their little hour, and then we hear no more about them.

- Mar ya. - Hello.

There's that little Zelli girl.

Couldn't you turn up tomorrow?

I wish you would. I'd like to talk to you.

I can't. I have to meet my husband.

Where did she come from? Does anybody know?

Somewhere rather vague and exotic.

Martinique? Could that be right?

Anyway, her mother's supposed to be a West Indian.

- That means she's a Creole. - What is a Creole?

I thought it was a way of cooking chicken.

Oh, you know the Heidlers, do you?

Not very well.

- Keep it that way. - Why?

If you have something to say, I wish you'd say it.

I'm not too clear about the whole thing,

but it seems there was a girl who killed herself,

someone Heidler had an affair with.

Then he had some sort of breakdown, and his wife had to take him away...

to Majorca somewhere.

I believe Mrs. Heidler paints.

It's pretty awful to think of the hundreds of women around here,

painting away, isn't it?

She's a decorative little person.

You should get her to sit for you, Lois.

- What does he do? - He's a very important man.

He makes discoveries. He helps young people.

He has flair. He also has money, of course, and that helps.

Working their fingers to the bone.

He doesn't have to do a thing. He doesn't have to pay for servants.

Come over here.

I hate all that kind of thing,

astral bodies and all the rest of that.

Astral bodies is philosophy.

You were neglecting us.

You want to avoid English people in Paris.

The ham.

H.J. and I most completely agree with you.

If you see only Anglo-Americans in Paris,

what's the use of being here at all?

Your husband's French, of course.

He's a Pole.

- And he, um... - He's an art dealer.

He acts between Frenchmen who want to sell and foreigners.

It's usually foreigners who want to buy.

And what do the Frenchmen want to sell?

Pictures, fur coats, um...

Madame du Barry's prie-dieu. Anything.

H.J. and I have quite made up our minds

that eating is the greatest pleasure in life.

Haven't we, H.J.?

I mean, it is, isn't it? It's one of the few

pleasures that never lets you down.

Oh, the music.

What about sex? I mean, really, what about sex?

Well, why are you all forgetting about sex?

What?

- Good evening, Mrs. Hautchamp. - Good evening.

If you have a moment, I'd like a word.

Is my husband here?

Edouard, offer Mrs. Zelli a chair.

Your husband won't be coming back tonight.

Did he call? I waited for him at the restaurant.

He was arrested about an hour ago.

An inspector and a police officer came looking for him.

Nowadays they arrest you for the slightest thing,

just on a whim.

Now they're talking of a Bolshevik plot in Paris.

It's ridiculous.

He didn't say anything?

Did he say anything before he left?

Your husband wanted to leave you a letter,

but the inspector wouldn't let him.

Really?

This whole affair is very unpleasant for everyone.

But it must be a mistake.

Yes, it must be.

No one likes getting involved in such matters.

They arrest everyone - except the criminals.

Ma'am.

It has to be a mistake.

I wouldn't be so sure.

Those sort of people always get into trouble.

I see that the Zelli girl's husband has been sentenced.

One year, to be followed by expulsion from France.

"Mr. Stephan Zelli has been sentenced by the minor offenses court of Paris"

"to a year in prison for trafficking and possessing stolen works of art"

In other words, theft.

I feel sorry her, all the same.

I can just see how it happened.

People do get a hold of girls like that.

- We should do something for her. - Poor little devil.

What did you have in mind?

We could have her in the spare room.

She probably hasn't got a bean.

But we don't know anything about her. We don't even know where she's from.

People say she was born in the West Indies, Martinique

or some place like that.

Is that supposed to be good or bad?

I am not saying it's either. I'm merely stating a fact.

We don't know anything about her, except that her husband is in jail.

It's true.

I'm not going to have a discussion on that sort of level.

I think you're getting bored again.

That's the reason you're ready to bring in anybody at any cost.

You just want to shut me off and shut me in,

make me into a tame husband.

- As if anyone could do that. - I won't live like that!

It's no use doing too much for people, H...

- Did you call for me, sir? - No, I did not call for you.

Thank you, Annie. You may go.

It's simply no use doing too much for people.

You know that, H.J.

All we've ever done for anyone is to have them in the spare room.

And look what trouble they brought with them,

all those types we tried to be kind to.

I'm not interested in being kind to anyone.

I'm interested in them.

In character.

In forms of life.

You should've married a stockbroker

and stayed with him in South Kensington.

Now, that is unfair, H.J.

You know perfectly well I'm only thinking of you.

I don't want us to get into any more impossible situations.

Don't you see how dangerous it is to close one's self off?

Be afraid of...

Well, just because of some... unpleasant experience in the past.

It's only a cubbyhole of a place, but she'll be all right.

Zelli. The Polish man?

Follow the others. It's over there.

Zelli, to the visitors' room!

Come on. Hurry up.

Get in line. Don't push in.

Hello, Mado.

My poor boy. What rotten luck.

Mado, listen.

The worst, the very worst,

is that this has happened when I have no money.