Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant,—servant, Sir. Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most plentifully supplied.
Beau. I have no appetite.
Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have you got? [Takes and looks over the bill of fare.]
[Shout without.] “Long live the Prince!—Long live the Prince!”
Beau. The Prince!—what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left in France.
Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph.
Beau. Him! and who’s Mr. Him?
Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte?—Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte?
Gla. [giving back the bill of fare.] Never had that honor. Soup—ragout of hare—roast chicken, and, in short, all you have!
Beau. The son of old Alelnotte, the gardener?