PERCINET. There is where you saw me, like Amadis, put to flight thirty of the ruffians!
SYLVETTE. No: ten!
PERCINET. [Going to her] Dearest, what is the matter? Are you troubled? Your eyes are not so bright as they were. I know! This marvelous place makes you sad sometimes. Are you sad because our balcony—our Verona balcony—is destroyed?
SYLVETTE. [Impatiently] Oh, dear!
PERCINET. But does not the wall still exist in our memories? That wall which cradled our love—
SYLVETTE. [Aside:] Will he never end!
PERCINET. You remember not long ago, you said our story should be put into a poem?
SYLVETTE. Yes?
PERCINET. Well, I have occasionally written verses.
SYLVETTE. Are you going to write our story?