Roger. It would be better not to.
Suzanne. That isn’t easy.
Roger. And there are other questions of propriety which you must consider. That is exactly what I was objecting to——
Suzanne. Oh, yes, I know, I have no manners. M. Bellac is never tired of telling me so!
Roger. Ah, Monsieur——?
Suzanne. But what can you expect? There is no help for it! It’s not my fault, I tell you, it’s not my fault. It is not so easy as you think; I made a vow with myself that when you came back you would find me just as formal as Lucy, that I would wear myself out learning!—Here I’ve been studying six months—and then all of a sudden you appear and, whist—there goes six months’ work for nothing!
Roger. (Reproachfully) For nothing?
Suzanne. Oh, how glad I am you’ve come! Oh, how I love you! I adore you!
Roger. Suzanne, Suzanne! I beg of you not to use words that you cannot possibly understand.
Suzanne. What? That I don’t understand? I tell you I adore you! You, you funny old thing, don’t you love me, too? Why are you so funny? Do you love me better than Lucy?