PASQUINOT. How are you?
BERGAMIN. Pretty well.
PASQUINOT. How's your gout?
BERGAMIN. Better. And how is your cold?
PASQUINOT. Still troubles me, devil take it!
BERGAMIN. Well, the marriage is arranged!
PASQUINOT. What?
BERGAMIN. I heard everything—I was hidden in the bushes. They adore each other!
PASQUINOT. Bravo!
BERGAMIN. We must bring matters to a head! [He rubs his hands.]
Ha, ha! Now we can do as we had planned—