Mme. de Céran. (To the Duchess, as before) Bellac!
Duchess. Bellac!
Bellac. One can’t see very well here!
Mme. de Céran. You see, it’s true!—Everything is true!
Duchess. Everything? No!—Only a little bit.
Mme. de Céran. The rest is far away.
Duchess. In any case, it’s only a lark, a schoolgirl’s frolic! It can’t be that—(The door squeaks) There she is! Oh, my, how my heart beats! In cases like this, it’s better to be sure; one can never tell. Can you see her?
Mme. de Céran. (Peering out) Yes, it’s she; Roger will be here in a moment, on the lookout for them. Hadn’t we better show ourselves, Duchess?
Duchess. No, no. I want to see where they stand. I want to catch them red-handed.
Mme. de Céran. (Still looking) I’m dying of suspense—Décolletée—It’s certainly she.