THE YOUNG MAN (to his father):
What piece do they give us?
THE BURGHER:
‘Clorise.’
THE YOUNG MAN:
Who may the author be?
THE BURGHER:
Master Balthazar Baro. It is a play!. . .
(He goes arm-in-arm with his son.)
THE PICKPOCKET (to his pupils):
Have a care, above all, of the lace knee-ruffles—cut them off!
A SPECTATOR (to another, showing him a corner in the gallery):
I was up there, the first night of the ‘Cid.’
THE PICKPOCKET (making with his fingers the gesture of filching):
Thus for watches—
THE BURGHER (coming down again with his son):
Ah! You shall presently see some renowned actors. . .
THE PICKPOCKET (making the gestures of one who pulls something stealthily, with little jerks):
Thus for handkerchiefs—