Cedric. Ah! You mean aniline dyes.
Gaston. Yes, I said so.
Cedric. What about them?
Gaston. What about them? England invented them. Germany has taken them from you—all. That is science. All German now. So with aeroplanes. England and France—proud, very proud. But at the end, you will see ... at the end.
Cedric. Oh!
Gaston. And soon.
Cedric. I say, if it isn't a rude question, how did you guess that we were—er—on our honeymoon? It might be useful for me to know.
Gaston. Ah, now—again! I read, I study. I alone in this sleepy place. By example, no afternoon newspapers—none—came into this place till I ordered one at the railway. I insisted. "The Piccadilly Gazette"—you know—Thackeray—"written by gentlemen for gentlemen." I read it every day. Ah! And is it not afraid of Germany!
Cedric. Do you mean there's something about my marriage in the "Piccadilly Gazette"?
Gaston. Yes. Do you want to read it?