Con. Ah! yes; cut out, “My father!”
Fle. Cut out “My father!” You had better cut me out. Why that is the great point of the piece.
Hol. No, no; change the details.
Fle. To what? to what?
Hol. Allow me. (To CONSTANCE.) Recall to your memory my child, bethink you will—a large room—a man seated on a table—cross-legged—who sometimes crept towards you with his head moving up and down, like a monkey, to make you laugh.
Con. Ah!
Hol. Do you remember? By the side of this man a large pair of scissors, called shears, with which you always wanted to play—and the man scolded you gently—very gently—told you not to touch them.
Con. Surely that was—go on—
Hol. And one day when you cut yourself with these shears, your blood flowed, you remember?
Con. Yes—