Jeanne. What do you mean?
Paul. That! A little burglar alarm I’ve just installed. Yes, a piece of wood in the door-hinge. By this means, if anyone should come—oh, not any one in love,—that would be hardly likely in this place!—but someone who was trying to take refuge here and avoid the tragedy—there wouldn’t be any danger. He gives the door a push, there is a squeak and we—whht!—by the other door, eh? Isn’t that a clever invention? I tell you, we statesmen—! And now, Madame, since we are at last sheltered from the eyes of the world, I shed the responsibilities of the public man; the private citizen reappears, and is ready for the flight of sentiment too long concealed; I now permit you to call me Paul!
Jeanne. Oh, what bliss! You are too good, P A U L!
Paul. I am good because I am at peace; but, kissing me in the corridors, you know—the way you did when you came to unpack my trunk, that——
Duchess. (Aside) So it was they!
Paul. And in the garden, this evening, too——
Duchess. Again!
Paul. Never again, please! It’s entirely too imprudent for this house!—And what a place! Didn’t I tell you? It’s a shame that in order to become a Prefect one has to yawn himself to death in this palace of boredom!
Mme. de Céran. Eh?
Duchess. (To Madame de Céran) Listen to that! Listen to that!