Baron
Lucas: one hundred thousand francs.
Widow To the farmer, the Grand Prize? But, let's see. Reread it. Is it, indeed, his name? Lucas?
Baron
I am not the master of my scorn.
Widow
Grand Prize to Lucas? You are ruining us, traitor.
Baron
To Lucas, the Grand Prize.
Widow
You won't allow it. Oh, Fate, unjust Fate, that Lucas be enriched.
Baron
I cannot recover. His good fortune desolates me.
Widow (pretending a quick thought, accompanied by joy)
But, let us rejoice and laugh.
Baron
Are you crazy?
Widow
No, at first we both had a stupid inspiration. It's surprised us.