Jeanne. (Dropping her eyes) He’s silly!
Paul. (Sitting) Don’t you think so? And that tragedy! Oh, that tragedy!
Jeanne. But, Paul, what is it?
Paul. And old Phillippe-Auguste with his beautiful verse! Why, everybody has written verse! That’s no reason why he should read it! I’ve done it myself!
Jeanne. You, dear?
Paul. Yes, I! When I was a poor student I even used to sell it!
Jeanne. To a publisher?
Paul. No, to a dentist! “Fill-iad, Or the Art of Filling Teeth.”—Poem in three hundred lines!—Thirty Francs—Listen!
Jeanne. Oh, no!
Paul. “O Muse, be there an ill, to man the greatest curse,